Of one my first attempts at a 100-word short story.
At nine fifteen I enter, grab a pop and run into the theater. It was dark. I sit at the back and put my purse down. I focus on the screen as a smelly old man sits down behind me.
I sip my pop. The movie starts.
He begins hitting the back of my chair. His breath quickens. I hear moaning. I get up and shoot him a look of disgust. He laughs. His pants are undone. His hands are invisible under the wet spot. I call him revolting and relocate to the front. He laughs again.
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