Photo by Atharva Tulsi on Unsplash
by Mikki Aronoff
It wasn’t a sly hint for a drink to be followed by a viewing of some long-hoarded stamp collection piled high in a corner of a musty studio walk-up. It was just an umbrella he was offering me in the unexpected storm that was slamming the city and drenching the new outfit I borrowed from my sister to wear to a job interview that would get me out of my lousy shared studio and into an apartment all my own. And he did look like Caspar Milquetoast, a bit like a shabby doorman, so I felt I could trust him. How gallant, I thought, not even worrying whether he’d be drenched if I were dry, so I smiled, gripped the umbrella’s handle. He grinned back, leaned in, muggy breath fogging my face as he whispered: British Guiana, 1899, mint. G&T?
Mikki Aronoff lives in New Mexico, where she writes tiny stories and advocates for animals. She has stories in Best Microfiction 2024/2025 and Best Small Fictions 2024 and upcoming in Best Small Fictions 2025.
