Flash Fiction: After the Convenience Store

 

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Sometimes you run without knowing why.

At least, that’s what I said while being interrogated. Hours must have passed already since I ran from the convenience store, smoked that final I-plan-to-quit cigarette, threw my bloodstained t-shirt in a random dumpster, and counted the cash that was now being called “evidence.”  The thing is, I’d stopped running a few times in between there and here.

-db

Word count: 64

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