I love writing flash fiction/memoir. Here’s one of my very short pieces from a few years ago that you might enjoy:
I turn onto the street just west of the center and see an attached parking lot in the back of the building. The place is packed! The lot must hold a couple hundred parking spaces and it’s full! Big Oldsmobiles and Buicks and massive trucks for towing fifth wheelers, and I can’t find a place to park, so I park on the street.
A senior in this place is defined as anyone 50 or over. Hell, at 50 I was only a kid and now, at 61, I’m just beginning to embrace the concept of being able to get discounted goods and services or of experiencing the idea that no one notices if I wear makeup when I’m out and about.
It was only when Lori was giving me the bingo schedule that it dawned on me…I’d joined the ranks of people by who no longer define themselves by their occupations or the successes of their children but people whose status might be based on the elegance of the troll doll at the end of their bingo card markers. Oh, my gosh, is it just a matter of time before I’m saving sugar packets from Denny’s?
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Senior Moments: The Best is Yet to Come?
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