“Ben Stiller’s Friend Flipped Me Off at a Restaurant in New York City” is quite a long title for a rather short story. A microfiction, in fact. In 140 words, Rachel M. Hollis tells the immersive tale of an urban love affair, partially set in an “apartment, both cramped and impossibly empty.” And while the title may seem flippant, the narrator is anything but insincere. —Court Harler
Because I tried to take a sneaky picture of them on my BlackBerry. Blurry, lopsided, famous.
Before Ben Stiller’s friend flipped me off at a restaurant in New York City, my boyfriend and I were arguing on West Forty-Sixth Street. He loved that the city never slept and I couldn’t remember the last time I had.
Before we were bickering on a busy street, we were staring at our phones in our Williamsburg apartment, both cramped and impossibly empty.
I didn’t realize what had happened until we got home and I opened the photo. Ben, ignoring us. His friend’s middle finger—perfectly in focus.
“I still can’t believe we saw Ben Stiller,” he said, like it meant something. Like we’d had a moment.
I packed a bag and left while he was still staring at the photo. He never looked up.
RACHEL M. HOLLIS lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, child, and a deeply unmotivated dog. Her work appears or is forthcoming in River Teeth’s Beautiful Things, Midway Journal, Lost Balloon, Gone Lawn, Necessary Fiction, and elsewhere.
Featured image by Wes Hicks, courtesy of Unsplash.
Flash the Court 