While playing around on Facebook and drinking wine  last night,  I composed this piece of flash fiction:

The Romance of Carl and Bobbi Jo

Another work day over, Bobbi Jo was too tired for having fun. She had been working in the coal mine.

Then Carl showed up. “Hey, Bobbi Jo, you want to slip on down to the Oasis?”

“Carl, you know I got friends in low, low places.”

Later that night, much much later. Both were drunk, Carl and Bobbi Jo. They stood on Bobbi Jo’s front porch, under amber light.

“Lord, I am so tired,” Bobbi Jo said.

“Too tired for having fun?” Carl said.

“No, hardly Carl.” She embraced Carl and kissed him deeply. “No, my dear, I want you to pretend you’ve been working in a coal mine.”

Carl was a bit slow, given the 42 shots of gin he had drunk. He stared at Bobbi Jo, puzzled.

“And you’re goin’ down, down.” She grinned.

Carl grinned, too. It was a pretty good night.

Even later:

“Oh, Carl, you spin me round, right round,” Bobbi Jo said.

“Right round?” Carl said.

“Like a record, baby. When you go down.”

Carl looked at the clock. “Baby, it’s five o’clock in the morning.”