Gumball

Timmy eyed the tiny man suspiciously. “I wanted a gumball.”

“I know, and I promise I’ll get you lots of gumballs. But you gotta use your quarter on this machine first, okay?” His hands were pressed against the wall of his plastic prison.

Timmy clutched at his coin. He glanced at his mother, who was fiddling with her checkbook.

“C’mon, kid! You’re my only hope! Don’t fucking do this to me!”

“That’s a bad word,” Timmy said. He turned his back on the toy machine and bought a gumball.

“Dammit!” The tiny man slumped. He glanced around. “Psst! Hey, kid…!”