They called him Piranha because he had little sharp pointy teeth. The car wasn't his. If it had been, my choosing him might have been a more definite kind of choice. But, when it came down to it, he was the nearest. I had to go with one of them because of the car. It was an old, cream coloured Mercedes, with worn red leather upholstery. You could lie down full length on the back seat and still have room to stretch. I wouldn't have been there in the first place, if it hadn't been for the car.
In the morning, we went to a café and watched the sunrise. Me, him, his mates. He talked too loudly because he'd got laid, because he was the one I'd chosen. I smiled and said nothing, because I had filled the back seat of a beautiful car.
FlashFlood is brought to you by National Flash-Fiction Day UK, happening this year on 27th June 2015.
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