The Restaurant


A story imspired by Ernest Hemingway’s style of writing

It was raining. The restaurant was loud. They seated us at a small table near the kitchen. The young waiter left a basket of bread and butter on the table. The bread was warm. I like bread. The butter melted as I spread it on the bread. It tasted good.

“How was your day?” I asked after I finished the bread.

“It was good. How was yours?”


The waiter came by and asked if we were ready to order. Juliet said she needed more time. Her eyes never left the menu. I could still hear the rain. We were alone again. It was silent.

“You know I love you.” I said hoping to break the silence.

“Do you?” Her eyes never left the menu.

“Of course. Do you love me?”

“I think I am going to try the salmon.”

“Do you love me?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes finally met mine.

“You love me don’t you?”

The waiter came back. “Are you ready now miss?”

Juliet’s eyes left mine. I took a sip of my water. The ice clinked against the glass. The waiter stood patiently.

“I will have the salmon.” She finally said.

“I’ll have the same.”

The waiter took our menus and we were alone again. I took another piece of bread. It was colder now. The butter didn’t melt. I liked it anyway. I like bread.

“Do you love me?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure?”


I sighed heavily. The candle on the table flickered. It was a small scented candle. It was supposed to make the night more romantic. It wasn’t working.

“You know I love you.”

“Really?” Juliet was playing with her necklace. A small sapphire pendant. She didn’t look at me. I took another piece of bread. Now the basket was empty.

“Yes, I do.”


“I want to marry you.” I set the black box on the table. She didn’t look at me. “You know I love you. Do you love me?” It was still raining.

“You love me?”

“Of course I love you. I want to marry you. Do you want to marry me?”


“Why? I’m crazy about you. I want to marry you.”

“I don’t love you. You don’t love me. You don’t want to marry me.” The candle flickered again. “I should go.”

Juliet got up from her chair. She didn’t look at me. It was still raining. I watched her walk away. I loved her. I didn’t want her to go. She never looked back. The candle blew out.

The waiter came back. He set the two plates of salmon on the table. He set another basket of bread on the table. I pushed the salmon away. I hate salmon. I took another piece of bread. It was warm. The butter melted. I like bread. It tasted good.


  1. I liked it.
    Tho what u got against salmon? :-O 😉

  2. I think you kind of missed the point. I had no real problem reading this, but it left me confused and dissatisfied, even though I love the pathos of these moments.

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