Friday Fictioneers 5-6-2017

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook


His eyes closed. He was listening, but he wasn’t. Blah. Blah. Blah. You’d think the man had never heard himself speak.

The inside of the chamber was still and hot. Perfect bored-to-death-falling-asleep weather. But not while the pontification continued.

His eyes flickered open. All he wanted was to go home, lay in the cool grass and create pictures in the clouds.

Why was that so hard to understand?

Why was there no fricking air circulation?

Why didn’t he give a damn?

Gathering his books, he slipped unnoticed from the lecture hall.

He’d never wanted to be a lawyer anyway.

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