By Charlotte MacMillan
Every Friday at half past three, I practice Russian at the Vietnamese restaurant. There are no Russians there to help me, but their chicken pho pairs wonderfully with stumbling my way through deciphering Cyrillic script.
Today, the restaurant is not there. It isn’t closed; it does not exist. Instead, there is an empty building where I am certain the restaurant should be because the path up to the door slopes in such a way that trips me every week. I ask around about what happened, but no one cares.
It is a quarter to four, and I am not eating pho.
Great opening and closing lines. Congratulations on this.
Left me wondering in a good way.
Great work. Sort of illustrates the power of the unsaid. Which is great in longer work, but does wonders with 100 word stories.