Why do I find it hard to write the next line?

[venta]

Every so often, walking about, I see things which catch my attention. I want to know how they came to be there. I want to know the story behind them.

By which, of course, I mean I want there to be a story behind them. Why was the guy in Reading station clutching a handful of tall red roses (bare stems, no wrapping paper or cellophane) and staring so anxiously at the escalators? Nervous first date? Waiting for a partner after an argument? Would the lady (or gentleman) he waited for be pleased to see him? And where did the roses come from?

This morning, on a garden wall on my walk to the station, there was a bottle of cava. It was Freixenet - not top end, but decent stuff. It was open, and only an inch or so from the top.

What set of circumstances, or curtailed celebration, causes someone to leave a barely-touched bottle of pricey cava in the street?

Fans of flash fiction-writing are invited to explain either circumstance in <100 words :)

Comments

[nalsa.livejournal.com]

Is Freixenet drinkable? Whenever I see bottles like that on the street my inital thought is "well, at least they tried it and left the rest for someone else to enjoy."

Or maybe their father drove by and took them home, because they were fourteen and drinking what they could find in the "bottles to take to other people's houses" pile.

[venta.livejournal.com]

I think it's drinkable. It has a £9.99-usually-reduced-to-£4.99 incarnation which is a bit ambivalent, but its upper echelons are decent.

I'm sure leathellin will be along shortly to put me right.

[ringbark.livejournal.com]

I don't think it's as drinkable as all that. I found a bottle of in the street once, too, and I must say it tasted like wee.