By Yash Seyedbagheri
Every night, Nick prepares to dazzle the bars with panache. He shaves, sprays Old Spice, dons a Polo shirt.
Then he pours White Russians, watches PBS.
He’s tried the bar scene. Twice. Both times, Nick was a ship navigating hostile seas, amongst discussions of Lady Gaga. Netflix. Topics for philistines.
But he still envisions connection. Imagines meeting a girl with cat-eye glasses, a Romantic. She also listens to Tchaikovsky, drops bon mots about modernity.
One night, Nick decides to find her. He takes a step outside. But he shudders at thoughts of fumbled conversation, the futility of slaying cultural windmills.
I absolutely love this.
Nice!
A beautifully written piece. I’ll wager there are many Nicks and Nickys out there hovering on the periphery. Sometimes it needs a leap of faith to trust and try again.
I enjoyed this. I would like to know more about the back story of Nick. Only so much can go into 101 words.