Parking Lot

Alan P. Scott - Fictions - 100-word stories


I thought when you tried to kiss me in the parking lot that it meant something. The motel was almost an afterthought. You sat on the edge of the bed, smoking one of those clove cigarettes and looking anywhere but at me. I turned over and went to sleep. When I awoke to harsh sunlight streaming through the half-closed drapes, you were gone, remains of a continental breakfast on the small round table. I paid the bill and did not try to call you again, but I always wondered whether things could have been different, in a different parking lot.


©2011 Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.

Last updated October 1, 2011

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