Micro fiction

Cranky Old Man

1 minute read

I’m finishing breakfast when a small kid wanders into my field of vision. He looks two, maybe three, staring at me from behind his runny nose. Call it the hazards of eating out every day.

“Hi there,” I say flatly. In my experience, directness (combined with old age and some serious wrinkles) is enough to scare them away. He of course runs off to his parents. Game, set, match.

I don’t have any children of my own, never much saw the point. My wife used to call me a selfish man, which I guess is a pretty serious thing for a wife to say. She spent ten years trying to talk me into having one, and another ten blaming me for not giving in.

The kid comes back. Gotta admire his perseverance; he’s basically challenging me to a staring contest now. I stare right back at his fat face while sipping on my tea.

At the very end, I make an epic slurping sound. He giggles, I win.

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