“Jimmy, how many times do I have to tell you?” Mom said in her usual-nagging-southern-accent. I groaned and said in unison, “Don’t play basketball in the carport.”
“Good, you got it.”
“But where else am I suppose to play it? The basketball hoop is in the carport.”
“I don’t care, as long as it’s not in my carport.”
I sighed and exited the house, dribbling the ball the moment I’m outside. “He shoots and he scores!” The ball bounced off of the rim and flew over my head toward the glass door with a slam and a crash. Uh oh.
Each week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple hosts Friday Fictioneers where we’re challenged to write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words, more or less, based on the picture above.