Porch

Just found a "flash-fiction" I wrote a few years ago:

The porch looked awful. The paint flaked to the ground like dead skin. Their red cups gave off a dull glow in the overcast light. They were playing ping-pong, or something. There was shit in the corner. It most likely belonged to the dog, Rufus.

Rufus had been eyeing the open Doritos bag on the steps all night. They better not let him eat any of it. Then he will just shit more. He imagined the porch covered in his powdery orange shit. It might be a nice touch. The ball bounced.

There were holes in the floorboards. Cigarette butts smoldered in them. The malt liquor bottle on the table was already full of butts. It was smoking, too. No, bottle, that’s a bad habit!

Rufus shook a smirking, fat fraternity brother’s hand and then laid down to stare at the Doritos some more. He didn’t like his owners. He imagined filling the holes with his fluorescent feces. A bulimic girl stepped on his tail while dancing. He wanted to shit on her.