One essential truth of small towns applies also to Lightning Flat: If you don’t want people to know about it, don’t do it.
As he lowered his glass Ennis spied a photograph tacked behind the bar. Jack, his arm around some bearded stranger, both holding drinks, toasting the photographer.
“Who’s that?”
“Some Texan, friend a Jack’s. Come up with him last time.”
Ennis’s face fell. He couldn’t hide the sadness, disgust. He felt sick, them staring, so happy, from that picture.
“Sorry folks, I got a move.”
Ennis grabbed a shot, a beer, headed toward the booths in the back.
100 words