We’d been driving all day by the time we pulled into town, and my dad was even more pissed off than normal. We were all hungry and tired. The motel sign read no vacancy, and the only restaurant still open was a hole in the wall Chinese joint.
“What the hell is this?” he asked. “First no fries or cheeseburgers, and now this shit?”
“They’re chopsticks, Henry,” my mom said. “Use them to pick up your food, like this.”
“I don’t do friggin chopsticks,” he said, stabbing his orange chicken with one chopstick. “Now, pass me that dang Chinese ketchup.”
Written for Friday Fictioneers – hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
My 100 word story written about the photo prompt above. Read more below.