Flash, no. 1
I pry the ring off my finger in the Jet Blue lounge. I leave it on the cocktail napkin next to my empty glass. I raise my hand to the woman at the other end of the bar. Her eyes are chilled hunger.
A twenty covers the bill, and covers up the ring.
I leave the lounge and head for the gate.
I think, Next time.
The southwestern desert stretches beyond the window.
I scratch the absence gnawing at my knuckle.
Might as well leave it here, in good company, with all the other uncashed rainchecks.