Muzzle, I Said:

So, I'll take you up on your idea, he said.

Short stories? I asked.

Yes.

He was having a beer at closing time while a few friends stretched the night's last moments and a drunk slumped and drooled in a booth.

A short story's sentences swing on iron strands carrying concise meaning, like a needle. Constructed of imagination, glimpses, and suggestion, the story crowds a mind where phantoms and demons jump from shadows and dance.

The story's impressions remain after staring at the sun.

I told my friend I would find him some. And I will.

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Lily went berserk when another dog entered the vet's office today.

I stood to face the receptionist.

Muzzle, I said.

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The idea of a short story, I suppose, is to say everything without saying everything.