A 100-word story
I crack a beer and sink into a chair that’s in the sun and out of the wind to dial my friend Dave. He knew me when I had hair.
Dave still lives in the desert where we took road trips guided by one rule: stay on dirt unless low on gas or beer.
Since then we’ve each acquired a kid and a divorce.
“How you been?” I ask.
“I drink less than I used to,” he says, “but more than I should.”
“You up for a road trip?”
“Tell me when,” Dave says. “I’ll meet ya at the airport.”
© Copyright 2021 by Jim Latham