Here is my new piece from the weekly Flash Friday contest based on the directive to include the concept of “treasure” and the following photo prompt:
Sheets felt like slabs of concrete that night, as they usually did. Quincy rose from his bed, slipped into his ripped loafers and out the door.
New York City was alive. Her breath was hot on his neck; her energy swirled around him in cascading waves. He felt the urge to immerse himself, to be taken in by the waves, but instead he descended down to the subway.
Quiet, empty, except for a man playing a banjo with green makeup on his face. Only NYC. Money cup was empty except for a cheeseburger wrapper. Dropped a dollar.
She roared in with a gust of wind that spiced his eyeballs. He always made sure to stand as close to the tracks as possible. To see. To sense her. To feel her.
He stepped in, found a seat in the back. Waited for her to take off and closed his eyes.
Felt the rhythm of her movements, his found treasure. And slept.