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Sunday

Sunday Micro Fiction: “When It Counts,” from elimae

When It Counts

Ran­dall Brown

My son watches the man and the shell game, fol­lows the cov­ered pea, the blur of hid­ing and reveal­ing, of shell and hands, the man’s beard an ice cream cone of teeth and filth, ten, twenty, a thou­sand times my son points and is cor­rect and the man says each time, I won­der if you can do that when it counts, and each time my son says, We don’t have any money.

Ten, twenty, a thou­sand times I get to hear him say it. 

From September’s eli­mae.

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