A Trolley Full of Marx

Published in Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine 6, 2 (Oct 2013)

“It’s only got two strings” she says as I pick it up.

            “You play much?”

            “Obviously not, no.”

            I tune it to itself, flick a few riffs. “Is there any wine?”

            “Probably.”

            I lie back on the floor, get a different view of the room. Under the table, in the rectangle of dust the hoover misses, lie a few scrabble pieces. The table is overflowing with newspapers, flyers, drafts of speeches. We’ve been meaning to take them to the archive in the office for months but who has time?

            “Wine.”

            “Thanks.”

            “Play something then.”

            “On two strings?”

            I think for a minute, strum Teenage Kicks. Punk on cat-gut strings sounds neutered. Plastic rage.

            “You finish the cartoon?”

            “Not yet.”

            “We should take these papers to the archive.”

            “Who has time?”

            “We wait any longer and we’ll need a trolley to move them.”

            “A trolley full of Marx?”

            “Good name for a band.”

            The wine is cheap, acid.

            “Scrabble tiles under the table.”

            “They spell anything?”

            “Two blanks and the other’s face down.”

            “I should clean.”

            “Who has time?”

            I strum. Later there’ll be meetings, talk. Better wine. Now it’s afternoon. Afternoon. Nothing but time. I strum. Think about where to get a trolley.