Carl lay back looking up through the hole in the rotted roof. Sweat on his forehead ran down into his eyes.
The midday sun hid just outside his line of sight, burning bright and hot in a cloudless sky.
What I wouldn’t give for a cool breeze, he thought. He looked over at the defunct ceiling fan, wishing yet again that it could spin. How nice that would be, if the blades were straight and spinning, making this tropical paradise bearable.
That however was not to be. So he poured another tequila, and waited for a cool breeze to blow.
#FridayFictioneers is a weekly blog link up hosted by Rochelle over at RochelleWisoff.com. You should check out her sight and perhaps try your hand at writing a 100 word story.