A little piece of short fiction. Enjoy!
When they cut me loose, Kurt picked me up in his ’84 Buick Skylark and tossed me a pack of cigarettes through the open passenger window as a way of hello. Nice to see you too. He saw the shirt, chambray blue and the name Thomas on the left breast. I stood with the car door opened so he’d see it as I smacked the cigarettes against my palm and opened the pack. I had the shirt tails tied at my stomach over the blue jeans that hadn’t been worn in 10 years, and I tucked the pack into the waistband. I could see it in how he looked at me, he didn’t like the shirt, but he didn’t say nothing about it. He just sat in the driver seat, his lanky arms draped over the steering wheel and his seat too far back.
“Girls don’t wear it like that no more,” he said. “You gotta watch you some TV or read a magazine.”
“I ain’t a girl no more neither, am I?” I got in.
He started the car. “What you want to do now?” he asked, eyes forward even though we still weren’t moving.
I put the cigarette to my lips and pressed the lighter into the dash. I looked back at the granite walls covered in dust and morning sunlight, the glassed in guard towers and the barbed wire. “Get the fuck away from here is what I want to do,” I said.