“What a dump.” Larry kicked at a holey plastic disk on the dusty ground.

“Perhaps,” Bill acquiesced. “But it is my dump.”

“Fit for a match,” Larry snickered. The place stunk.

Bill regarded his cousin. He recognized the green-eyed monster behind the hooded eyes. “Perhaps,” he replied finally, “but I foresee another kind of match.”

“Like what?” Bill had the Midas Touch. It drove Larry nuts, but maybe this time he’d get some of it to rub off on him. Could use some green.

“Plastic sheeting, sprinklers, plants.”

“Bullshit.”

“Already got plenty here!” Bill laughed. “Used to hold animals, that.”

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo prompt © Bill Reynolds