My Drabble

As many of you know, I love to write.  I'm working on my first novel now, hoping to finish it this year.  I've started lots of novels, but I've committed myself to this one.  I plan to see it through to the end, then begin the arduous undertaking of finding an agent and getting piles of rejection letters.  Such is the romantic life of a writer... 

Perhaps I'll start posting some finished chapters soon.  For now, I'll share my entry to the "drabble" contest being held by a writer's site to which I belong.  A "drabble" is a work of fiction of exactly 100 words.  For this drabble, we were asked to look at the picture below and explore questions like "Who is  he?" and "Why is he there?"  

The picture is of a homeless man and was taken during the Great Depression.  A little explanation of my take on it: A snapshot of the man's thoughts, like the snapshot of a picture. 

Here's the picture and my drabble below:

The way Betty held me in the palm of her.  Moved her lips against the back of my neck as she whispered "goodnight."  

If she were here she'd pull my hands from these pockets.  "Twirl me," she'd say.  A pirouette.  She'd throw her head back and laugh at the sky.  Dangle her arms around my neck.  Brown eyes.  "See, baby, it ain't so bad," she'd say.  

Betty wore orchids in her hair.  Liked jazz.  Ginger Rogers.  And pearls.  

If she were here she'd tip my hat up to see my eyes.  "Baby, I'll always go where you go," she'd say.