is this what the kids call flash fiction?

2/4/16 “you know, the only thing that bothers me more than a limp dick is a pillow that feels like a limp dick. you know?” he stared at her blankly. she seemed not to notice that she had disturbed him, as she thoughtfully gnawed on the olive of her martini. “maybe I’m being vulgar. I don’t know.

I don’t think you should have to apologize for that sort of thing.” he sat back and considered massaging his temples but didn’t. he felt that his emotions would leak out all over the table if he did, mostly confusion and vaguely, enamorment. he stared into the ripple of his glass. it vibrated when she talked. she talked a lot. “do you want to get out of here? you’re so quiet. I think it’s lovely but also I’m going to need you to make it seem even here.” “let’s go,” he said with a sudden self-aware gaze fully on her, escaping his torpor. “I’m better at listening.” “well, did you ever think that I like to listen sometimes too?” she said with a bitchy smirk. grabbed the fur coat and ran out without tipping. he massaged his temples before following. she grabbed his hand as their heels smacked cobblestones. it wasn’t affectionate, it was rather childish, swinging his arm back and forth. “jesus,” he said with a snarl. “you wanna take it out of its socket?” “maybe,” she said quietly, looking down, ashamed as if she had been found out.

“I get the feeling like you could kill me sometimes.” she sighed. “you don’t understand. I just love the reaction. its fun to get a rise out of you.” he silently wondered what this could mean, but not for long. he started thinking about something else that had nothing to do with her. this silence, her head-voice said. what is he always thinking about? me, me, me right? god, I’m staining the goddamn streets with desperation. I wonder if he can sense when I’m alone and thinking about putting my hands all over him. thinking about him putting my hands all over me. sometimes it’s perverted but most of the time it’s quite endearing. oh yes! that’s the word I thought to describe him today. endearing. so how come his silence feels like knives? I need another martini.