Every month Iâm writing a new short-short.
âBack in â69ââ says the old man, sinking low in his wingback chair, firelight playing across his pockmarked wrinklesââJim and I were out in the Nevada desert, hundreds of miles from nothing, when his Harley broke down. No food, no water, no tools.
âBut I had thisââ he adds, leaning forward to show you his Zippo, and you feel the heat from its flame on your face.
âWith nothing more than my lighter,â he says, âI managed to tighten the loose screws, temporarily solder a couple of parts, even jump-start the engine. Werenât permanent, but it got the thing running well enough that we could get it to a garage. Saved both our lives.â
He spits a wad of phlegm on the ground, and you look to make sure he didnât get any on your shoes.
âBack then,â he goes on, âseemed like you could do damned near anything with a lighter. We all carried âemââ he snortsââclipped âem on our belts, always had âem with us.
âA guyâs lighter was his emblem, his pride. It was who he was. Weâd carve our initials in âem, paint âem with dragons and wizards, even plate âem with gold. When Zeppelin launched into âStairwayâ and the crowd threw their lighters up in the air, it werenât just a sea of flames, it was a sea of souls. Those were souls lighting up the night.â
A chuckle bubbles up through his throat, gets lost somewhere in his gray stubble. âNowadays you go to a show and what are the kids holding up in the air? Their goddamned phones.
âWhat good is a phone?â he scoffs. âAinât no one ever fixed a bike with a phone. Canât even open a beer with one.
âAnd no one treats âem with respect, neither. Just disposable corporate slop, and everyone knows itâll be in next yearâs garbage. When kids do try to make âem their own, they just buy the ugliest rhinestone covers. And what the hell is a âPopsocketâ? Sounds like a crummy-ass breakfast cereal.â
Heâs waiting for you to laugh. You force out a chuckle.
âWhen you have a doobie to light, your phoneâs not gonna help you,â he says. âOr when you need to engage in some light arson? And what good is a phone when youâre tryna light the fuse on the dynamite youâve planted in the embassy?â
Heâs opening up his lighter now, sprinkling the fuel on his greasy shirt, his worn pants. âAnd letâs see a phone do this,â he mumbles, lighting the wick once more and dropping it into his lap.
As the flames engulf his body, his chair, you smile at your screen, knowing how many views this will get on TikTok. đšđđ§¸
âŹ ď¸ In case you missed it: Editing, Smile, Slenderman, and âhow to not be transâ
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