Dried Squid

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

They sat outside drinking cocktails at a place named, The Pub. It was their first day back in Ho Chi Minh City after adventures across Cambodia and Darren’s 72-hour marriage in Bangkok. The bored bartender invited himself to sit and chat with Chris and Darren.

Soon after, a vendor appeared. Chris, a sucker for weird foods, asked what the vendor was selling. Dried squid; the bartender smirked at Darren’s reaction, then waved the vendor over. The duo gagged at the smell; the bartender laughed. As the vendor returned to his cart, Darren waved and sarcastically declared, “Thank you, come again.” The vendor turned and the bartender paused. Chris shook his head.

The Crabby Pig

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

Jersey was a blip. Then came the litany of burgs and villes in southern Pennsylvania.

They reached the Mason-Dixon line around noon, their stomachs grumbling at the dearth of food. But they persisted, eager to earn more mileage toward their first day’s goal.

As the late December day waned, they decided to stop in Cumberland, Maryland at the Crabby Pig. Chris, who always ordered the weirdest item on the menu, chose the soft shell crab sandwich. Darren opted for the burger.

They departed the restaurant at dusk with Chris driving. As they wound through the West Virginian hills Chris announced, “My stomach’s not great. It feels like it did in Vietnam.”

Right or Left

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...


They hit traffic on Varick as they waited to get into the Holland Tunnel.

“What am I doing?” Darren blurted.

“Driving? Well, no, sitting in traffic,” Chris quipped.

Darren ignored him. “Is this the dumbest thing I’ve ever done?”

“Nope, you’ve done dumber.”

Darren side-eyed him before continuing. “Am I making a big mistake?”

“Of course. You’re leaving the best city in the world.” He paused for effect. “And me with it!”

Hairline fractures formed in Darren’s stoic exterior. They sat in strained silence.

“Listen, Tequila,” Chris used the nickname he had given Darren years earlier. “There’s no mistake to make. There’s no right or wrong. There’s only right or left.”

Seeds

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

Murray had planted the seeds of Darren’s departure nine months earlier.

It was at Murray’s sendoff in Tribeca. An army of finance folk littered the pretentious bar gulping overpriced cocktails and quarreling over chic seating. Murray, a fairly senior leader and Darren’s former boss, lay sprawled on a couch between his boss and the head of the department. They traded quips and thickly veiled insults. After a few more drinks, Murray was just short of sloppy. That’s when Darren heard his name spoken above the corporate din. Darren turned to see Murray pointing a finger with unfocused eyes and a stupid grin.

From Darren’s loosened lips escaped an uncharacteristic, “Oh shit.”

Departure

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

‘Twas the day after Christmas, and Darren descended the walk-up’s stairs for the last time. He stuffed a bag into the rented Buick and forced the door shut. ‘Time to go,’ his best friend, Chris, announced from the passenger’s seat as a truck pulled behind the idling car. The truck driver signaled his displeasure. Pete, Darren’s roommate and sometime lover, emerged from the building. Darren hugged Pete, then slid into the driver’s seat. ‘Wait! Let me get a pic,’ Pete cried. He captured them, their heads jutting from their respective windows, with the just-opened World Trade Center as the backdrop. With that, the duo began their adventure from Soho to Soma.