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.

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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.