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That Time I Ran Into Ernest Hemingway

That Time I Ran Into Ernest Hemingway

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Published by Connor Ludovissy
The title says it all, really. Flash fiction.
The title says it all, really. Flash fiction.

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Published by: Connor Ludovissy on Sep 23, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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11/04/2013

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that time i raninto ernesthemingway
a short . . . somethingby connor ludovissy
 
1
So, there was this time I ran into Ernest Hemingway.I walked
into my favorite bar, Jerry’
s,
I know that’sa generic name, but Jerry loves the place, and it’sreally very classy. Anyway, so I walk into Jerry’s and
I go sit myself down at the bar and I see this fellowin a tweed jacket. I look up at his bulky frame and hisvoluminous mustache and something clicks in me. Thebartender asks me a question and I don
’t hear him.
 
“Holy hell!”
I say.
“I’m sorry, sir, what’s the problem?”
asks thebartender, who I ignore.
“You’
re Ernest Hemingway! The writer!
 Hemingway, or Papa, people have called him that,
let’s call him Papa, turn
s to me. He moves his wristback and forth in a free yet calculated motion,stirring his drink, sending it up and down and sloshingaround the sides.
“You know any other Ernest Hemingway?”
he asks, thenturns to face the bar again.
 
2
“Well there was this fellow named Ernest MacDonald,but he was Irish.”
 Papa must not have heard me or something, because he
doesn’t
say anything. I turn to the bartender, a pale,skinny guy of about twenty with a long, black haircutthat tells you he hates himself, and I order myself ascotch
no, two scotches.
“One for myself and one
for
ol’ Hem here.”
 Still staring ahead
, ol’
Hem says
, “Don’t call methat.”
 I shake my head. He always was a grumpy fellow.
“What are you doing at Jerry’s?” I ask.
 
“Drinking.”
 
“Well yeah, it is a bar. But aren’t you dead?”
 
“Is that a problem?”
 
“Uh, no, but it’s just kind of weird and all
considering-
 

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