Flash in the Pan
A Quarterly Posting at Tiny Lights
by Jack Swenson
From time to time my wife and I make a visit to Salon du Monde in Niles to get our claws clipped. For my wife it is a luxury, for me a necessity. I can trim my own fingernails but not my toes. I have had a hip replaced, and I can't (or shouldn't) bend over that far.
The girls all give me a hard time because I have big feet. One will make a comment, and the others will laugh. Personally, I don't see what is so funny. Maybe it's some kind of private joke.
One takes a bus to work, all the way from San Jose to Niles. Near her home is a colony of feral cats which she feeds every day. I always give her a twenty dollar bill before we leave so she can buy food for the animals.
Two of the girls are cuties. One is the boss, the other is just a kid. The "kid" has a little boy. I can't understand a word she says. She has a pretty face. Kim, the boss, knows what's what. She is attractive, too.
I love to watch Kim work. She styles and cuts hair. When she is working on a customer, she is all business. The look on her face is priceless. All concentration. I admire that. I don't care what you do in life, you should always do the best you can.
While I was getting my claws clipped, I noticed a flyer on the wall touting something called a hot rock massage. "Whoa," I said. "What's that?"
The youngster who was working on my toes looked up and smiled. "You like that," she said. I shook my head. If I was going to get a massage, I didn't want any rocks on me. Just hands.
Jack Swenson was enchanted with short fiction years and years ago, and when he retired from the teaching biz, he started writing it himself. He hasn’t stopped. Almost 150 of his stories are in print. His novella “The Ladies’ Man” is now available from
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