I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...
“No nickname for me,” said Darren.
“Everyone gets a nickname,” Chris replied Oprah-Winfrilly.
They were each on their third drink at Viv, a Thai restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen.
“What should his nickname be?” Chris implored the occupied bartender.
“He couldn’t care less,” Darren retorted.
“That’s a terrible nickname.”
“Ugh,” Darren signaled the bartender. “Another tequila and ginger, please.”
“You?” the bartender asked Chris.
“A chillax.”
“Huh?”
“Whiskey, diet, splash of Chambord. So, what’s your name?” Chris purred.
“Henry,” the bartender responded flatly.
“How long have you been working here?”
“A month.” Henry left the drinks and moved to another customer.
“He doesn’t deserve a nickname,” Chris huffed. “But he’s still hot.”
1 comment:
I had fallen into a pattern of revisiting this blog to hear the continuation of the overarching story. And when I did that, I felt a little bit bored or impatient or something. But this entry, or maybe the openness with which I considered it, inspired me to re-appreciate the spaciousness of dialogue. It leaves room for the reader to imagine the stories between the lines, the personalities, all the things that might have happened to lead the characters to a place wherein they interact with each other through particular words, in very specific ways, within a given moment. It's amazing how much you can learn (or imagine) about people by simply knowing what they say (or not) and how.
Post a Comment