Pocket Fiction


Published April 25, 2017 in NY Stories - 0 Comments



Said he played guitar for Patty LaBelle.

Spoke with pride about his son.

College bound, such potential.

Then the son was killed by a cab jumping the curb.

With the sympathy he got free meals, drinks galore, cash, a social security number and a new identity.

The funeral was invented, it was all a con.

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