Junk Sale (Five minutes freewrite)

He prays to God nobody sees him. Selling the old fart’s junk at the flea market is not something to put on Instagram, but it’s just about all he could think of to make enough money so he can go to Vegas. At least a couple hundreds. That should be enough to fool around a bit and have a shot at Lisa. If he cannot make it, that bitch will definitely screw Jimmy. She practically told him as much.
Not that he cares about Lisa, it’s Jimmy that gets on his nerves - that fucker gets all the hot chicks. If only he could get to Vegas, he’s always been lucky at the slots and he’s pretty good at Black Jack. Win just a little money and he can screw that bitch for three nights…. which reminds him it’s time to post a couple of those pictures from the gym, six-pack sweaty and shiny - ‘getting ready for action’.
The junk laid out at his feet is pitiful, he knows that, but then the world is full of collectors who go ape-shit over old stuff like that - ‘vintage’, they call it. Vintage, my ass! It’s all he could find in Grandpa’s basement. Like the old man’s leather briefcase - I hope it is leather, at least. ‘When did he even use that, I wonder The Stone Age?’
For as long as he can remember, Grandpa Paul never went out of the house. On one of his good days, you could find him in the backyard, smoking and drinking some horrid tea ‘to settle his stomach’. To see him shuffle his feet, God you could take a nap on the porch in the time it took him to negotiate a few feet between the living room couch and the front door. Just his luck to be stuck caring for the old man, but then there’s the house which would fetch him a decent price some day. When the old man hits the bucket, but who knows how long it will take? The nurse says he’s got a strong heart, so he might be around for a few more years, no matter his brain is fried up and the old man spends most of day shouting imaginary orders to his wife, who’s been dead for ten years. ‘Bring me some coffee, woman. I’ll be up all night with these damn papers’.
Funny how he never notices his wife never answers back and if he ever gets something it’s most certainly not coffee, but some lemonade the Grace serves him together with the four o’clock snack.

He’s never liked that boy - too much like his no-good father, the scumbag who knocked up his precious Maggie. They tried so hard, he and Linda, to have a baby and when his beautiful girl managed to get to MIT, that bastard comes along and, bam!, she’s pregnant and the jerk splits.
If he tolerates him around the house it’s for Linda’s sake, she’s fond of the boy as it all that’s left of Maggie. She’s so wrong, the boy is nothing like Maggie, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that. She’s suffered enough when Maggie died. The stupid kid thinks he’s so ga-ga he doesn’t know anything. But he does, he sees things. He knows the boy’s been stealing stuff from their house. Like the framed pictures they used to have in their old bedroom upstairs, the one they no longer use since Linda fell and broke her hip last year. The pictures they took on their wedding day. Oh, well doesn’t matter anyway. Maybe he can find a way to replace them before Linda notices anything. Sure, he’s got a couple of gray hairs and the odd wrinkle, but he’s still strong. And Linda, she’s as beautiful as the day they met.

Thanks for reading!