By Santino Prinzi
Gary shuffled on the spot in front of a shop with opaque windows. In his pocket was the list of things his wife had asked him to pick up. He fumbled it with timid determination. She gave him this list last night. He expected to pick up ingredients to make another cake.
“Pick these up on your lunch break,” she said, “when you finish work we’ll put them to good use.”
Standing outside, he didn’t know what half the things were or what they did, but he liked the sound of them. He looked right, then left. He pushed the door open, and as it closed behind him, he glanced over the list once more. Air was thick and heavy in his lungs. When the assistant returned with the first item from the list, the heat in Gary’s groin intensified. They shared a wry smile. What difference will a day make, he asked himself, and decided he’d wait until tomorrow to tell her he wants a divorce.
Santino Prinzi is a ginger Italian residing in Bath, UK, who has had his flash fiction stories published online and in print. He enjoys reading European literature, food, flash fiction, poetry, food, female-fronted metal bands, and food.