Me? Political commentary disguised as flash fiction? No no, just a harmless story about a girl at work. Your reactions are welcome. And thanks to Roger Bultot for the photo – I hope old Mr Roethorn is still going strong in real life.
Finessing her English was the easy part. The skates took Chelsea months of practice and numerous spills, but the customers’ laughter was sympathetic, like they wanted her to succeed. They were mostly kids, like her, except white and local – spending instead of earning.
Then Mr Roethorn died and his son gave a speech about how he was going to make the Patriots’ Diner great again: “a diner for patriots”. The next day Chelsea’s name wasn’t on the schedule. When she confronted him, he said “Time to go home, girl,” and he didn’t mean the little apartment on Front Street.