Each week a photo is used, donated by one of the participants of Sunday Photo Fiction, and the idea is to write a story with the photo as a prompt in around 200 words.
© J Hardy Carroll
“Holy MOG,” Jay exclaimed, looking at the tangle of dusty bottles crowding the shelf.
“You did mention redecorating,” Chris grinned.
“My wife would kill me. You decorate with it.”
“Doesn’t fit my decor.”
“And it fits mine?”.
Dante wandered over.
“Jay is thinking about redecorating.”
“I am not. Asshole.”
Dante said something in Italian, probably not complementary. He was their trumpeter, trombonist, jack-of-all-brass-instruments guy. Except for Jay’s sax.
“I was about to say,” Chris continued, “with his herd of kids, they wouldn’t be breaking anything valuable.”
“Dante has as many kids as I do!”
“You guys tire me out.” This from Dante. “Besides, seven kids isn’t a herd.”
“That Chinese bottle would look good in your kitchen, Dante,” Chris returned. “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Whiskey?”
Dante had recently stopped drinking. They all had at one time or another, but he’d had the hardest time.
Dante snorted. “How’d you like a fricking ‘Closed’ sign on your door next time a herd of sex-starved women buffalo over.”
“Buffalos?” Both Chris and Jay asked.
Throwing his arms about their shoulders, Chris laughed, “All this fucking crap makes me hungry. Let’s eat.”