Mark Taylor

RSS feed

Daily story, October 15, 2024

Not a single thing had sold all day. She paid a tenner for the pitch and another to hire a trestle table, which had threatened to buckle under the weight of her crap and was sagging even more six hours later. The float money she had prepared sat heavy on her waist. The price signs she had thought so carefully about were a jumble of discounts. She felt like a ghost. Except that ghosts get to leave all their earthly things behind, while she had to pile all hers back into the car and drive it back to the empty flat.