I have a new story up in the very cool and very noir flash fiction journal Powder Burn Flash. Here’s an excerpt.
Joe walked out his front door, down the stoop, and over to Frank’s door. He rang the bell twice.
“I want to talk to you about your dogs,” Joe got around to saying.
Frank was 68, a retired cop. Well over six feet tall, he stood behind the barely opened door and blocked any view of the inside. His bushy eyebrows didn’t move. His big, fig-shaped face stayed blank.
“They bark all day. They never stop barking,” Joe went on. “Then they do their business right there by the fence. You can smell it. It brings flies. You know what I mean.”
“What do you want me to do about it?,” said Frank.