Friday Fictioneers photo prompt from Rochellewisoff.com. Photo by Roger Bultot.

Lost and Hungry

I bit into the fried pickle,

And realized my predicament.

Ellie urged that falafel was near.

She left me, a novice New Yorker.

Sour juice down my chin,

I knew, my wallet was gone.

My friend was gone.

The falafel place non-existent.

Clearly in the Twilight Zone,

I ran back toward the pickle booth.

Gone.

Found the fruit pies, Po-boys, taqueria,

Frantic in the sea of smells,

the Thai skewers stopped me,

no money, phone dead, a street wanderer.

Feeling a tap on my shoulder.

“What is the matter?” Ellie laughed. “Why the race? Here you dropped this.”

My wallet.