He was just parking his bike on the side of the street, when some lunatic bumped into his shoulder and caused him to lose his footing. He fell, obviously.
"Oh, sorry," said the one bumping into him.
"Yeah, right. Just watch where you're going, will you?!" he grumbled while cleaning his clothes from the dust and checking his wounds.
"Of course. Again, I'm really sorry."
"Don't sweat it."
"No, really. Let me get you a cup of coffee?"
He looked up to the insistent stranger.
Stunned, he said, "Ok."
And he stammered.
YOU ARE READING
The Short Short Life of a Short Shorts
General FictionA bunch of short stories randomly written in the midst of rainy days
