This picture is rather dazzling. I almost succumbed to another geometrical tale, but thought of something else instead.
“I’ve seen the light. I’m going to be a cab driver.”
Billy had joined the army and left when he discovered how heavy the backpacks were. From there he’d become a pavement artist and lamented how the rain washed away his pictures. Then he joined his best mate selling second-rate vacuum cleaners door-to-door, but he hated tricking old ladies out of their savings. The last light he’d seen had led him to be the dopiest night cashier at the convenience store.
She smiled at him. Her son hadn’t seen just one light: there would be many more, too. As long as he kept pursuing them, did it matter?
(A little over a 100 words; couldn’t find anything else to hyphenate)
Friday Fictioneer’s hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields