It's Still Life

Clam Chowder

Summer heatwave; you’ve fallen asleep with The Telegraph spread across your knees.

I remember our second date: we spoke of death, a girlfriend, a fire, a club with locked exits; only those who’d paid went in.

Most of them didn’t, you paused, and I finished the sentence.

It was that time of year when the sun set later and later, the horizon awash with stars as we ate clam chowder; you charged it to the company card, and I paid for the ice cream.

Years later, you claimed to hate clams.

I laughed; I always laugh when you lie.

Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “charge”.  Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is authentically my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.