“Hey Sven, how many hours we been plowing snow today?”
“Twenty two, I reckon.”
“Any sign of blacktop yet?”
“Nope. Not a bit. And we’re running out of places to put the snow, too.”
“Hey, wait. Isn’t that the councilman’s car? The one who cut our overtime?”
“Yep. I believe it is.”
“Hee, hee, hee.”
The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a story in exactly 55 words. Flash Fiction 55 is hosted by the G-man, a host with the most.
For what happened next, see picture #8 in yesterday’s post.
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