The Lamp Post

Short Story Day 32 of 365

Quinn stood on the street corner of Crosstown Boulevard and Jersey Lane under the street lamp with his hands shoved in his pockets and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He checked his phone clock and took another drag.

Coughed once.


Two cars passed and turned into the next street, barely slowing down, tires screeching around the turn.

He took four steps away from the corner, turned, and took a dozen towards the corner before checking the time again. Quinn took a long drag from his cigarette and tossed it to the ground, stamping it out.

A car passed going the other way with a load of teenagers yelling as they passed. He waved to acknowledge and smiled.

“Teens,” he thought. “Must be nice to be that young again.”

Quinn was anything but young and youthful. He wasn’t ready to go to the nursing home, but he was glad he was on the declining side of life.

His phone chirped to life.

“Quinn here.”

“Quinn?” the caller said, “Where are you, man? I’ve been waiting at Josie and Crosstown for fifteen minutes now. Running out of patience.”

“You’re kidding? That’s four blocks away. I’m at Jersey and Crosstown. Jersey, not Josie. Jersey. Come pick me up before I have to smoke another one of those awful cigarettes as your signal.”

“Signal? Ooookay. I’ll be there soon and pretend to know what you’re talking about.”

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