Oh Henry

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

“So, not everyone gets a nickname,” Darren remarked.

“Oh, don’t be so literal. You’re getting one.” 

“What’s your nickname?”

“I don’t respond to them.”

Darren rolled his eyes and signaled the bartender. “Another tequila and ginger, please.”

“That’s it!” Chris cried.

The bartender eyed Chris.

“Oh Henry, don’t you... wait, Oh Henry! I love it! Another chillax, Oh Henry.”

Henry scoffed and stalked away. 

“I hope we get our drinks,” Darren lamented.

Chris shrugged it off. “Where were we?”

“Who knows?”

“Where are we having our preantepenultimate drink?”

“Our what?”

“Our I-haven’t-had-nearly-enough-alcohol drink.”

“Our next drink?”

“Yes.” 

“Posh? West Village?” Darren hoped Chris had forgotten the whole nickname thing.

He hadn’t.

Chillax

 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.” 

Kentucky Tequila

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

After a few hours on highway sixty-four they arrived in Lexington, Kentucky. They chose the scenic route from the city’s outskirts enjoying miles of horse farms before stopping at Ramsey’s Andover Country Store, a diner that promised one of the trip’s better meals.

They found a packed house, yet Chris expeditiously secured two vacated seats at the bar. 

A bartender appeared in front of them. “Whadda y’all havin'?” he asked.

“Whiskey and diet,” replied Chris. “The well bourbon,” he emphasized.

“Tequila and ginger,” Darren added. The bartender rolled his eyes before heading off to make the drinks.

“What are you doing?” Chris blurted.

“Huh?”

“Tequila? Really?”

“Duh.”

“We’re in Kentucky!”

“And?”

Almost Heaven

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

Their Friday night in Charleston came to an early close.

They partook in a meager breakfast of yogurt and juice before enduring the glacial walk from the hotel to the rental. As they meandered toward the highway, they reflected on the juxtaposition between the drab city and the beautiful Appalachians. 

“Almost heaven,” Darren commented.

“Huh?” Chris was confused.

“West Virginia.” 

“More like purgatory.”

“Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River.”

Chris eyed him. “The Blue Ridge Mountains aren’t even in West Virginia.”

“Life is old here.”

“Wait.”

“Older than the trees.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Darren belted, “Younger than the mountains, growin’ like a breeze. Country roads, take me home to the place I belong.”

Disdainfully

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

“Cover?” Darren texted. But no response came.

Darren splashed his face with water, descended in the elevator, and stepped into the frigid night. After a short walk, he spied, between an orthodontics office and a vacant retail shop, a misplaced two-story house with a rainbow flag hanging between the centermost Ionic columns.

A grizzled young man stood in the foyer.

“Five dollars,” he drawled.

Darren wanted to walk away. Instead, he opted for an eye roll and forked over the five.

He sat beside Chris, the only other person at the bar.

“Tequila!” Chris proclaimed.

“What the hell is this?” Darren asked.

The approaching bartender remarked disdainfully, “A converted funeral home.”

Unwelcome Adventure

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

When they reached the room, Chris declared, “I need a drink!” He lofted his bag onto the bed, squawked, “I’ll text you,” and fled.

Darren called his family assuring them that all was well, then waited. Tracking down Chris, even in a small, abandoned city like Charleston, could become an unwelcome adventure.

Almost asleep, Darren heard his phone. A text inquired, “Are you coming?”

Darren had accepted that Chris lived in a universe in which everyone should be able to read his mind. “Where?”

“Broadway. This place is a hoot!” Chris included a blurry picture showing an incoherent mixture of decor. “Come!” After a pause, he added, “Oh, and bring cover.”

Charleston, WV

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

“Well, that’s bad,” Darren replied. “Want me to drive?”

“Nah, let’s see how the crab settles.”

It was a false alarm, Chris’ odorous emanations notwithstanding.

The car wound through the hills west of the Appalachians as Chris’ travel playlist started its second loop.

They entered the abandoned state capital after eight and checked in at the Quality Inn. Chris reiterated that it was the only stop on their journey at a chain hotel.

Well-traveled and moderately adventurous, Chris prided himself on finding local gems in order to appreciate quirky regional culture. When Darren asked why Chris hadn’t sought out a West Virginian gem, Chris responded, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”