Alley in the shadows. Crickets chirped. I sat on the ground, tired. Lightning out, cold and airy. I could feel my skin turn pale. It was a terrible night. But there was a hut of hope. Steamy dumplings, cooked my humble senses. It was famine week. But the thoughts couldn’t pass. A white board appears as my footsteps ensue. A tower stood above me, staring at the cashier. The menu was scattered. Words streaming on the board. Static, stuck in time. Frozen at that moment.
I proceeded to pick up, taking mental notes. A green card wafted from my ripped pockets as I reached in. But a hand stopped me. It was the stranger. We didn’t exchange words. I didn’t start. He didn’t stop. But for no reason, he continued: “It’s my treat tonight. My treat, kid.”
Me: “Huh?”
I was confused. But before reacting, I paused.
It was a glitched response. But a draft move.
Him: “You look tired. Hungry. Take what you want. On the house.”
It was a full day’s work for me. But he didn’t know that. I gratefully obliged.
I thanked him.
That day, the heavens smiled.
The stranger proceeded to write something, on paper. He spoke about his family, his times at the restaurant. Wonderful memories. A draft in time, pausing my days that part.
I wrote drafts . But he was a glitch that night. I was full. The food was good. A positive encounter.
Sometimes, drafts glitch. We glitch drafts.
So, what are you waiting for? Start writing.
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Glitch Drafts 