The Divorce Attorney

My wife asks, “Who turned you into a missile?”

Later in the car the coffee is cold by the time I take my first gulp. It’s a windless day, no drag on my Benz. I roll down the window and cup the air in my palm the way I did as a kid. It feels like an old prom picture, familiar yet oddly distant.

She’s right about me. I am always going but never arriving.

My father said being the youngest made it a good bet I’d end up with a short stick. When I asked my brothers what that meant, they said, “He called you a loser.”

But I’ve been winning all my adulthood. I win every day. I don’t care who wants what or who gets in my way, I’ll run the motherfuckers over before I’ll ever turn on a blinker.

Len Kuntz lives on a lake in rural Washington State with an eagle and three pesky beavers. His short fiction appears in places like Camroc Press Review, Right Hand Pointing and also at http://lenkuntz.blogspot.com.

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