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Photo prompt from Friday Fictioneers:  Less than 100 Words.

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Photo Credit:  Shaktiki Sharma

The bus shelter lights rammed hammers and daggers into his eyes and throbbing temples.
His guitar, once golden, pulled him down like lead to the grey plastic bench.
“No more, no more!” His throbbing head commanded.
“No more swilling, smoking and post-gig potions.”
“Never, ever, ever. Not if my eyes are bleeding, I am done.”
His stomach emptied into the street.
“Looks like you need medicine, man”. The kid came closer, opened his hand.
The man palmed the pill and paid with the golden guitar.

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5 thoughts on “THE TRADE

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