“A job’s not gonna fall from the sky.” He handed her the classifieds, and she tossed it into the nearest trashcan.
He clicked his tongue. “When I was your age—”
“It was 1950,” she snapped.
Up ahead, she saw the mural on the coffee shop window—the sun rising over a steaming mug of cappuccino. She pointed. “This is it!”
He looked it over, rubbing his chin. “How much did they pay you for it?”
“It’s about the recognition, Pa.”
“So nothing.” He clicked his tongue again. “I sure hope you can find yourself a rich husband.”
word count: 96
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge where you must write a story in 100 words or less using the provided photo prompt as inspiration. Click the froggy icon to ready other stories and add your own.