Night Out

Over an hour had passed. The chips had grown stale. You don't think about chips ever going stale, until they do. Just goes to show.

This was England, of course. Only an hour had passed. Karaoke really takes hold of you.

The taxi outside the pub had gotten us mixed up for another group who'd skipped the last round we ordered. The next one up had awful leg room, no hand sanitizer. Tipped and rated five stars, as you do.

Back home, it was late. I took off my shoes and remembered for the third time that week that I needed new ones. Once I'd left the foyer the thought was banished again to find another moment at another entrance.

My fridge was empty. I regretted the karaoke, those poor chips. I opened another beer and flicked a screen across my face.