Tastes Like Pigeon - Flash Fiction
- Greg Luti
- 5 days ago
- 4 min read
I sat in the front seat of my car as my friend, Stu sat in the passenger seat eating his lunch. I was picking him up from his job, and so I got him a cheeseburger and fries. I wasn’t all that hungry, so I only got myself a soda.
Instead of driving to Stu’s home to drop him off, I pulled the car over to a street a few blocks away from where he works because the last time Stu went home after work, his parents caused his problems. I won’t go into the details, but we are at the point where we think it is best to avoid them.
I have told him that this may lead to problems for him down the line, on account of him not speaking to his mom and dad all that much, but he never likes to go into that sort of stuff. Stu is what you would call a simple thinker. Or he is avoiding something much worse.
He ate his cheeseburger as I drank my soda. I had nothing really to say to him either. I wasn’t mad at him or anything. I was just tired.
“You mad at me or something? You are quiet.” He asked.
“No. I got no sleep last night.” I admitted.
“Man, you gotta see someone about this. This is the third time you told me about not getting sleep. You are a zombie. You can’t go through life.” I missed the rest as he chewed on his burger.
