The Painting

"Why did the chicken cross the road?"

I let out a heavy sigh. I've known Dickie for over two decades and his jokes (God love him) have always been dismal. “I give up.”

“Because there was a sale at Walmart!” my unfunny friend concluded his latest unsuccessful attempt at comedy. He beamed for a second or two. “Get it!?”

“Yep,” I lied. Then, to abruptly change the subject: “So, I heard about the painting,” I said, while stifling a chuckle. Last week, Dickie had bought what anyone would consider a horrible version of art. It was at a company-sponsored auction, and Dickie, a junior partner at his firm, wanted to show off a bit by making a significant purchase-- five thousand smackers for that piece of shit-- without acknowledging the fact that he knew absolutely nothing about art.

“I know,” he said, wincing. “Mar is still mad. You'd think I'd murdered someone. Or worse: that I'd wrecked our Volvo.”

I nodded, and finished chewing a bite of my sandwich. “What are you going to do?”

“No clue,” he said. “I can't return the damn thing. And, no one in their right mind would buy it from me. Not for anything more than twenty bucks, if that.”

“Twenty dollars for a painting of two ninjas in a fight.”

“Actually, to me, it looks like a bunch of ducks dancing.”

I was about to ask Dickie to explain that ridiculous train of thought when his phone rang. “It's Mar,” my friend said, his eyes widening.

I smiled, gathered the remnants of my lunch, and got up. “Good luck, buddy. Call me when you're out of jail.”

“Uh-huh,” he said simply, putting the phone to his ear.


Written for Daily Flash Fiction, 04/22/11 edition
Prompt: Include the words painting, cross, and fight
Word Count: 299