Flash in the Pan


A Quarterly Posting at Tiny Lights

Smell Of Rubber


by Tony Johnson

I am sitting here quite pleased with myself because my hands smell like rubber. You see, we have this metal cart we use to haul our yard waste to the trash can. It has had flat tires for about a year now. I thought about fixing them frequently, but my laziness is a stubborn old coot and every time I moved toward the cart, he knocked me on my keester. Today, on the way over to stare at the cart one more time, I saw my laziness keel over. I am not sure if he is drunk again or just dead. In any case, I assessed the job and drove to the local bike shop where I bought a tire pump, much fancier than the one I owned as a kid. I also bought a tube to replace one that could not be revived. My hands remember how to use the screwdrivers to remove the edge of the tire from the wheel and pull out the old tube and stick in the new one. Then I pump up both tires. I feel that old excitement from fifty odd years ago, knowing I am mobile again. I may look ridiculous sitting in a metal cart that is not made to carry a person, but it doesn't matter. I am racing down the street, the wind is blowing my hair and for a little while I have a tireless body and I have no fear.




Tony Johnson is changing perspective along with his tires in Petaluma, CA.

Fifth Flash


Hold by Barbara Spicer
The Sins Of The Father by Glenn Mccrea
Punctuation by Kate Willens
Drawn To The Light by Suzanne R. Thurman
Le Pilier (the Pier) by Julian Lindemuth
River by Leslie Curchack
Party Time by Viola Hargadine
Rules by Terry Law
New Moon by Diane Larae Bodach
We Don't Talk About It by Amy Zimmer
Hearing Colors by Armand Gelpi


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