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.

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