Risa Horowitz


Writing

Very Short Stories

Driving

W. and I meet up for the first time in three years. The last time was at my birthday dinner: too many diverse friends. We meet in the hotel lobby and walk a block, pick up a cake, wonder where we should sit for lunch. We return and get into his valet delivered white jeep and drive around. We end up driving an elaborate perimeter of the city. Up Avenue. Across Eglington. Down Mt. Pleasant. Across King. W. is in charge, decides on the Liberty, but it's closed. I pee and we get back in the jeep. W. takes us to little Italy. We walk back and forth six blocks and nothing strikes us. We get back in the jeep. We stop at the drug store for contact lens solution. I forget to buy tampons. We return to the hotel restaurant. There are white people, men in jackets with ties, women in pantyhose, teenagers pining to get away. We eat overpriced lobster on toasted white bread. W. packs me a to-go treat from the fruit-candy-chocolate tray the hotel maid left in his room - he can't eat the stuff. Nice reunion, W. reminded me of living poetically. Kept me company.


Updated August 2022 | Acknowledgements | Copyright ©1998-2022 Risa Horowitz