Member-only story
One Bench. One Missing Hour. Three Fiction Stories.
Twelve and One
I remember what happened at twelve. I don’t remember what happened before one.
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Bowling had always been our thing. Santiago, Leo, and I had been friends for years. Whenever we needed to forget work, bills, or whatever else life threw at us, we went bowling.
That night was no different.
We played three rounds, argued over every bad shot, blamed the lanes whenever one of us lost, and laughed at jokes that probably weren’t even funny.
After bowling, we decided not to go home just yet. We grabbed a few drinks and headed to the park. It was already late, and the place was quiet and peaceful. We found a bench and sat there. We talked about things that really don’t matter much but enough to keep us awake.
We laughed. We talked about life. We talked about things we probably wouldn’t remember the next morning.
It was close to midnight when I finally looked at my watch.
“I need to go home. My wife is waiting.”
Leo laughed. “You’re not driving home like that.”
