Photo by Louella Lester
Slides his way down the aisle, spreads himself out all over the seat beside me. I breathe him in—only him—for blocks until he sticks his hand on my thigh. Now I’m saltwater taffy slumped far too close to my melting point, imagining what he might know how to do, that my man doesn’t do. Then someone tugs the bell-cord which snaps me out of it. I wiggle my damp self past him, taffy-pull until I’m out the backdoor, which slaps shut, snaps his hand back at him. Sets me free.
Louella Lester is a writer/photographer in Winnipeg, Canada, author of Glass Bricks (At Bay Press 2021), contributing editor at New Flash Fiction Review, and is included in Best Microfiction 2024. Her writing/photos appear in variety of journals.
