Worst job I ever had?
That’d be when I was a rent collector in Detroit. Also the last job I ever had, come to think of it. I quit pretty quick.
Nah, quit ain’t the right word. My employer explained it better: “Our rent collector was shot at point-blank range through the chest whilst out collecting rent late one night and, whilst he lay there dying, the rent money he was carrying was stolen.”
Figures. Like I said, worst job I ever had.
After that, I took possession. Seemed fair. ‘Sides, who should own all your old ghost towns if not ghosts.
This piece of flash fiction was written for Friday Fictioneers: a story in 100 words prompted by a picture that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every Wednesday. Here’s the link to the stories and this week’s picture is below, copyright Björn Rudberg.