"Home" Scmbag Flash Fiction.

He knew she would be waiting on the porch as he crept the car up the alleyway, parking his 81 Supra in the neighbor's garage. It was simple, the extra key was under a rock in the former flower garden. He slipped into the house, passing by a lifetime of family photos dutifully smiling, whispering some of the house's dirty secrets. In the bedroom dresser drawer, hidden beneath a decommissioned work week of starched white shirts, was that wallet--never for anything fun, for emergencies. This was his emergency. That 500 hundred dollars was going a long way towards fixing things. He paused only for a second, looking at the picture of himself on the dresser: young, handsome and hopeful. He headed out the back door while she waited at front door, wishing for the faded yesterdays return.