A Meandering Life...

By Skeena

The Wrong Man

Frank quickly realised the tools were for extracting words or last breathes not weeds. Even if he wasn’t bound tight to the chair he wouldn’t have the energy to move. A soft voice came from a dark recess of the lock-up;

Doll: ‘So Sam this is the end…’
Frank: ‘Why do you keep calling me Sam?’
Doll: ‘It’s your name, Sam, Sam Fork.’
Frank: ‘My name is Frank, I don’t know Sam Folk, I just subscribe to his private eye course…’
Doll: ‘Oh, the wrong man, sorry about that. Off you go then.’

Before he knew it he was bundled out onto the street. He was as confused as you are but he didn’t want to argue. Tomorrow will be a better day, hopefully...

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