No Signal: Fiction Friday

The Friday Fictioneer Challenge: Write a 100-word story based on the photo. As it happens every once in a while, I wrote a longer story, so I won’t be adding my link to the Friday Fictioneer page. However, there are plenty of writers who did keep to the word limit and you can read their stories by selecting the froggy link below.

ff-119-jean-l-hays

Photo copyright Jean L Hays

No Signal

“Where are we?” Tony rubbed his sleepy eyes.

“Tucumcari.” Adam parked the car.

“Took-em what?” Tony looked out the window at the abandoned building. “Is this a joke?”

“No joke, little brother, this is our stop.”

Tony got out to stretch his legs and groaned. This wasn’t the first time he regretted agreeing to accompany his brother to travel a non-existent highway. Route 66, 67, 103, whatever. What’s wrong with using the Interstate system anyway? Build it and they will come, right? He needed a good cup of coffee.

He only agreed to come because he had just broken up with Barbara and wanted an excuse to be out of town for a while. Come to find out Barbara didn’t like cream gravy and actually preferred brown gravy over her biscuits. And to make matters worse, she didn’t like macaroni and cheese at all! She made a great homemade salsa but, really, man cannot live by chips and salsa alone, now, can he? No, it just wasn’t working out between them. There should be mandatory food counseling for couples, he thought. That would save a lot of people a whole lot of time and trouble.

Adam was getting his camera ready. Oh, no, Tony thought, we’ll be here for hours.

“Hey,” Tony pleaded, “are there any civilized stopping points before we get to LA? I want a real bed and shower for a change.”

“Sure,” Adam said, “Albuquerque.”

“All-boo . . . is this All-boo place somewhere close?” Tony looked at his phone. No signal. How can we be somewhere without a signal? I should have looked at the map before we left. I never should have come.

Tony was hungry. His mouth watered at the thought of Barbara’s fresh salsa with some lightly-salted chips. Hell, he’d even eat brown gravy on biscuits if he could just get his hands on some. He dug his hands in his pockets, knowing there was nothing to do but wait for his brother to finish taking a few hundred photos. He looked back at the road leading east, towards home. He missed Barbara, missed her a lot.

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To read other Friday Fictioneer stories based on this photo, select the smiley blue frog.

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