“There’s nothing,” he said. And he was right. There was nothing out there. We’d been holed up in this apartment for seventy-two hours and we had nothing. The only thing that moved was that river.
“Look again. And look harder,” I told him as I poured myself a whiskey. On second thought I poured him one too. He shook his head as I handed him the glass. The greenhorns never liked to drink on the job. But when you’ve been on the job this long there is nothing else.
“Maybe we need a new perspective,” I said to myself.
word count: 99
Written in response to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who challenges us to think outside the box and write a story of 100 WORDS OR LESS from the given photo prompt. This week’s photo prompt provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.