The Party of Today

Монтажная область 1

We sit in a restaurant on Nevsky. The sun brought too many guests to the party of today. We are hiding from it, them. Outside, a man plays guitar.

“I almost worked here,” Y tells me.

I look around. It is a nice place, respectable.

“Why didn’t you?”

Y nods at a waitress.


“The uniforms. They are ugly, uglier than money.”

I look at the waitress; gray, lifeless, carrying pasta. I shrug.

I look back out the window at the man playing music. He is bald, wearing sunglasses. A woman, who might once have had a song written about her, dances. Her arms boogie, her legs do the twist. She is wearing leather.

“She’s having fun,” I say. Y looks out. She nods.

A child has come stumbling into view. The woman plods around him, as rhythmic as a falling brick. The child backs away from her. His hair is curly. His mother stands close, tapping away at her phone.

The woman has a beer. She is singing into it. It splashes on her onto her leather jacket. A homeless man is leaning against a nearby sign. He is wearing a blue track suit. He is drunk. He pulls down his pants, he scratches, then falls.

The child dances, the way children do; wobbling, arms up. The woman is laughing, trying to clap, spilling beer on the Mother’s shoes. The child dances, bold, gets closer to the guitarist. I can hear his laugh, even though the music is loud and the glass is thick.

The woman closes her eyes, she moves with the day, with the crowd, with the sun. Her leather jacket hangs open. She almost trips on the hand of the homeless man.

Our food comes–something Asian, and a cider. I thank the waitress. She smiles, her lips are gray. I take the Cider first and look back through the window.

The guitarist has bent down, playing louder. The child dances, reaching out, touches the guitar. He pulls his hand back, scared. Then, he smiles.

The woman has stopped dancing; out of breath, she lights a cigarette. The Homeless man snores; a good Samaritan has pulled up his pants. The Mother is on her phone.

The child dances.

“Cute kid,” I say.

“Yeah,” Y agrees.

We start eating.




  1. Some little gems in this story. I particularly liked “uglier than money”, “who might once have had a song written about her” and “The woman has a beer. She is singing into it.”

    Liked by 2 people

    • “uglier than money”…I do not really think money is ugly. It is necessary. But it is definitely ugly if it’s just a matter of showing that you have money. If someone attaches importance to certain things on good quality (which normally is expensive) , it´s alright. On the other hand, I detest buying cheap nonsense, which no one needs and which is broken anyway after a few days.

      Liked by 1 person

      • “Uglier than money” carries so many overtones. Yes, the flaunting of wealth for its own sake is ugly, as you say. But most money is ugly in itself. A dollar bill is not a thing of beauty (unless you happen to need one desperately, of course!) Then there is the biblical exhortation “You cannot serve God and money”. Money is utilitarian, in the way a grey uniform is. You wouldn’t wear a grey uniform through choice, because it signifies a rather menial job (grovels to any reader who might be a waitress – it’s the job that’s menial, not the person doing it!) I’m sure I’ve only scratched the surface here.
        It’s this ability to capture so much in so few words that makes Flash-365 such an enjoyable writer!

        Liked by 2 people

      • Thank you very much for the analysis. Sometimes things feel right to me. There is a whole wealth of ideas in my head that I feel but I can’t write them out in great detail. I always try to find the words that will make people think and feel and examine those thoughts in the same way they float around in my head. I actually started writing fiction when I was studying philosophy at university and I found that a few words could capture an idea that I was writing ten page essays about. That is what makes writing fun for me and I’m really happy to hear that you appreciate it.

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      • It must be wonderful, to handle with a few words and this displays your writing …. I never managed to express in few words.

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      • Thank you pennygadd51, your remarks, were very interesting. I find money (from the creative point of view- how it is designed) not ugly, but I have never thought about whether I find work clothes terrible, ( gray or colorful). Since I was 16, I worked as a waitress, as a superintendent or at a band-conveyor on holidays to earn money. I never did care, whether with uniform or not. For me it was never degrading, and I would still work as a waitress or cleaner, if there would be nothing better be offered. But this is perhaps a difference in education or a cultural difference… I have to review again, …. And undisputed Flash 365 is a very enjoyable writer!

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      • Yes, I am completely with you here. That is what my friend said actually when we were there. She said she didn’t want to work there because the uniforms are ugly. In reality I laughed and gave her some grief for it. I was raised in a similar manner to you. I’ve worked a whole slew of different jobs and it doesn’t matter if they put me in a trash bag. I wasn’t working to look pretty.

        Liked by 2 people

      • haha yeah…I’m actually trying to think if I ever might have had to actually wear a trash bag….hm, I did have to wear some pretty ugly ponchos while raising money for lobbyists in the rain. That was a silly job and an even sillier uniform.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Oh, that really does not sound very good…: )… For my ordinary jobs, I could always wear whatever I wanted. The chef from the pub was never present and also didn´t care, as pool attendant or orassembly-line worker it didn´t matter in which clothes you stare the pool or try to put 10000 screws a day into a machine. One time, I had to wear a uniform, as a hostess at the Athletics-World-Championships. The event was cool, but the uniform was also a little bit unpleasant.

        Liked by 2 people

  2. well I read it out load again and again and I understood the beginning, of “rhythmics as a falling brick” but as I´m not native speaker, I got really problems with the brigg…but I guess it´s not very coaxing to the woman…:)…and I still I have problems to imagine what kind of event this was…sunshine, leather jacket?????? and beer??????????


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