Fiction in 58 is something I came up with years ago to write concise stories with less words.
He wears frustration like a cloak against the cold, balled fists under his chin as eyes stare into the broken concrete. He leans on a light post in the growing darkness, natural light swallowed whole by neon and fluorescents. He feels it. The key weighing heavy in his pocket.
Waiting for his lover’s husband to leave.