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

[glamwhorebunni.livejournal.com]

It's the only form of Flash fiction that I recognise. The series was rubbish.

[glamwhorebunni.livejournal.com]

Actually, that's not quite true. I suppose I could have written a Flash fiction that was along the lines of:

"Well, what else could I do? With Bismark intent on destroying my reputation, and smarting from loosing my bet with Prince Bertie, it was time to head back to Elspeth. Liberating a few roses from the vase in the centre of the table, I went to meet her..."

[rabbit1080.livejournal.com]

Never watched the series (not sure that I'd heard of it much before now).
The film was fun, and frivolous.