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An Experiment in Restraint

I wanted to see if I could write a short story entirely in a handful of haiku.


Rain ticking on glass
he waits with a trembling cup.
Whiskey, barely sipped.

Her coat hits the stool.
Red dress, no umbrella,
no ring on her hand.

Their talk tastes like smoke,
old pain stirred in new honey,
truths that almost stick.

A glance at the door.
She checks her phone. Not smiling.
The jukebox wheezes.

He leans in, quiet.
She lights a cigarette, shakes
her head at the flame.

Past midnight, bar thins.
He asks what she’s running from.
She says, “Don’t be cute.”

Rain has stopped by now.
The barman wipes clean glasses.
The neon flickers.

He touches her hand.
Then pulls back, like it’s a gun.
She finishes her drink.

Lipstick on the glass
she left with one tear showing
and nothing explained.