I’m No Hero

(Another week, another short piece of fiction).

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The bad mojo, by my estimation, started when I popped the kid’s birthday balloon with my cigarette. I thought it would be funny. Funny for me, as it turns out. The gaggle of parents, post-party, standing just off the diagonal park path, the birthday boy’s balloon, one of five, possibly six, floating harmlessly, out over into my trajectory, the arc of my route, in the direction of home, probably, although I was certainly open to being sidetracked off on any sort of pleasant diversion that might come my way, the parents, that’s where I was headed, did not find my stunt in the least bit amusing. Continue reading