There’s a guy at the next table live-streaming his dinner. WTF? You’re supposed to eat it, you moron, not film it. I’m going to go over and call him out. Whaddyamean what for? For being an grade-A idiot, of course. Nothing’s real anymore, nothing is simple pleasure. Everything has to be shared now before they know they’re having fun.

No! Get your hands off me. I’m going to ram one of those skewers where the sun don’t shine.

Now more idiots are filming the fight, making memories. And here come the cops.

Bet I make the ten o’clock news.   

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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here