Austin Treat

Fiction. 1 minute to read.

Proctor burned behind a broken windshield, squeezing the steering wheel. The hotel stirred in neon light; a vacancy sign swung in the rain. Pitter-patter raindrops gathered in the fractured crevice of glass. The radio cracked with static, announcing the latest victim of a hit and run. I told Proctor we’d get the windshield fixed tomorrow.

*as published at Storm Cellar Magazine