A Drabble Drabble

This old guy leans over me as I’m working in my local library. He smells of beer and wet leaves. “What are you doing, buddy?”
“Writing a drabble.”
“A what?”
“It’s a hundred-word story.”
“Oh.”
He looks confused. “What’s the point?”
“Writing?”
“No – dribbles.”
“Drabbles,” I correct. “It’s fun writing them.”
“Whatever,” he says. His rheumy eyes stare at my computer. “Do you count the words as you go?”
“Yeah – sometimes. Sometimes I check after and cut down.”
“Seems like wasting time,” he says, and wanders off.
I shake my head.
They really shouldn’t let politicians visit.