This is quietly powerful. It reads with a lot of control and confidence, especially in how much you don’t explain.
Especially loved the title. Like acid rain, the atmosphere of the bar slowly corrodes rather than explodes: familiarity wears down meaning, repetition eats away at significance, and small, constant exposure dulls what once mattered.
The story shows damage that: happens gradually, is impersonal
and leaves surfaces intact while altering them underneath (rings on the bar, habits, routines).
I read the repeated actions as the passage of time without much changing.
“There was nothing left to correct.”
“The room went on.”
What a fitting idea to end on! It stays true to the story’s core idea: the world doesn’t pause for moments that feel final to one person.
Thank you so much Dipti. The depth of relection and understanding in your comments is so good, and makes it a real experience to hear the writing back through your eyes.
The distinction you draw between corrosion and explosion is exactly the kind of slow pressure I was interested in — damage that accumulates without announcing itself, that leaves things looking intact while something underneath has quietly shifted.
I’m glad the restraint came through, especially the decision not to explain or underline what was happening. For me, that sense of familiarity wearing down meaning — routines continuing, surfaces holding their shape — felt truer than any dramatic turn.
And yes, those closing lines mattered to me for the same reason you name: the world doesn’t pause just because something feels final to one person.
Thank you for spending the time with it and articulating that so clearly.
I’m really touched by your response, thank you for sharing it so thoughtfully. The idea of meaning quietly wearing down while the routine continues is hauntingly real and very human.
And yes, those closing lines stay with me too, precisely because they honor that continuity of life, even amid private endings or shifts. I’m grateful to get to witness your work and your careful attention to what you want it to convey.
I'm working through some essays for the new year if that's of interest, so people can see the starting points, notes, fragments, that get to the end thing published, including the bits that didn't make it.
I’m actually new to Nighthawks, but after reading up on it a little I can really see why you made that connection.
The underlying architecture doing more work than the people inside it, the stillness that isn’t calm so much as settled — that static, disillusioned quality you named feels very close to what I was circling.
It’s a genuinely humbling comparison — thank you for seeing it that way.
For anyone curious, this is the painting I’m now staring at properly:
I really liked how the micro-movements carry the weight here, the drip, the light, the glass placement. It feels like watching someone try to correct a story while the world keeps going anyway. Strong, restrained work.
Mark, you created this piece, “Acid Rain Ep 1”, and it’s truly a delicate and emotional work of scene writing. The loneliness and inner state of the character sitting at the bar are portrayed so finely that every small action, placing the glass, the drop of water, the dimming light, or the laughter, brings out his emotions. The repetition and attention to tiny moments convey the flow of time and the layering of feelings, drawing the reader into a quiet intensity and existential tension.
Mark, you showed how the character’s attempts to complete his story or come to terms with his emotions fail, and this makes his inner helplessness and isolation even more powerful. The circles of glasses, the dripping water, and the subtle sounds create a ritualistic and meditative feeling, forming a strong contrast between his emotional moments and the environment. This piece is not just atmospheric and introspective but also forces the reader to reflect on human emotions and the subtleties of silence, creating a hypnotic literary experience.
Tthat’s a very attentive and wonderful reflection.
I’m especially moved by how you describe the tension between his inner state and the environment continuing its own quiet rituals. That contrast mattered a great deal to me while writing it.
I like the way you name the repetition as meditative rather than dramatic — those small actions, like the glass, and drip sounds weren’t meant to heighten emotion so much as let it surface on its own, without being guided or resolved.
I’m grateful you spent that kind of time with the piece, and that it held you in that quiet intensity for a while. That’s exactly where I hoped it would live.
You've helped me see it in a whole new way through your lens, which is something special😊
I appreciate your compliment...trust me, Mark, I didn't even notice your piece. I went to your account to see some notes and saw that it was new. I think you changed your timing. If that happens in the future, please tag me. Thank you.
Good writing lives in atmosphere, and this had it in abundance. I love scenes where tension does the heavy lifting and the reader is trusted to read "Between the Lines". Get it? 😉
Very deliberate writing. The mood you created felt very real - you capture the scene exactly, late laughs, flickering lights, adjusted lights, circle marks of old glasses, creating enough tension with sounds - the drip, for the reader to expect something and keep reading.
“He set it down carefully, as if precision might count for something.
It didn’t.“
This made me laugh through my nose, that short breath, acknowledgement kind, where you recognize that movement and expectation in yourself and have seen it in others. To me it almost sums up the whole atmosphere you create.
Gub, I’m really glad that came through, and especially the way sound carries the tension rather than anything overt happening. I was aiming for those small adjustments and late arrivals to do some of the hidden or quiet work.
And yes, that line has a slightly cruel sense of recognition to it, doesn’t it?
And I've done that many more times than I'd like to recollect.
Mark..! this made me feel like I accidentally tiptoed into a grown-up room and wasn’t supposed to touch anything. I sat there very politely with my feelings folded in my lap while the drip went plip… plip… like it was counting something only it understood. I kept hoping the bar would do a big dramatic thing—spill a drink, gasp, break a glass—but no, it just kept being a bar, which felt extremely unfair and also exactly right.
The bartender scared me a little in that calm way, like when someone knows your order before you do and that somehow means they know too much. Everything lining up—glasses, cloth, light—felt like the room playing a game called “nothing is wrong,” and I wasn’t winning. The glass rings were my favorite and my enemy. They’re like little donut-shaped memories going I was here! I was here! and nobody even looks.
By the end I felt small and quiet and very aware of my own hands on the counter, like if I moved I’d make a scrape I didn’t mean to make. The story didn’t hug me or explain itself, it just let me sit there until I understood that sometimes endings don’t slam doors—they leave the glass behind and let the room keep going without you.
Asuka… this made me laugh and wince in exactly the same breath, which feels as fitting as it is painful.
That “grown-up room” feeling is such a perfect way of naming it — the politeness, the folded feelings, the absolute terror of knocking something over without meaning to.
And yes, the bar being deeply committed to just… being a bar felt unfair to me while I was writing it, so I’m glad it shared the load.
I love that you wanted it to gasp or spill or break something and it stubbornly refused. That’s very much the game it’s playing. And the way you describe the bartender — calm, knowing too much, order-before-you-do energy — is both delightful and slightly chilling in the best way. Maybe you know the bartender from before, as you regonised them so well?
Also: Donut-shaped memories is going to live under lease control in my head now. Those rings absolutely are tiny witnesses shouting “I was here!” into a room that does not turn around.
That last image you describe — hands on the counter, afraid of the accidental scrape — tells me you were exactly where the piece wanted you to be. No hug. No explanation. Just sitting until the room makes its point.
Thank you for entering so gently, and for describing the experience with such playful precision.
This reminded me of Bladerunner, and the bar at the start of Andor, and the Wild West and a yellow detective novel from the thirties all rolled into one. Not a poem - a shot glass measure from a story I want to drink more fully!
And that unintentional scrape is still making my teeth tingle!
A shot-glass measure feels right. Those influences were definitely in the air while I was writing now i think back a bit, more as atmosphere than reference points.
I wanted that sense of a place that knows its rules and keeps them quietly.
And I’m glad the scrape lingered happy 😊
That tiny, unintended sound ended up doing more work than I expected.
Funny what a little scrape can do, just like finger nails running slowly down a blackboard too I guess?
This is quietly powerful. It reads with a lot of control and confidence, especially in how much you don’t explain.
Especially loved the title. Like acid rain, the atmosphere of the bar slowly corrodes rather than explodes: familiarity wears down meaning, repetition eats away at significance, and small, constant exposure dulls what once mattered.
The story shows damage that: happens gradually, is impersonal
and leaves surfaces intact while altering them underneath (rings on the bar, habits, routines).
I read the repeated actions as the passage of time without much changing.
“There was nothing left to correct.”
“The room went on.”
What a fitting idea to end on! It stays true to the story’s core idea: the world doesn’t pause for moments that feel final to one person.
Thank you so much Dipti. The depth of relection and understanding in your comments is so good, and makes it a real experience to hear the writing back through your eyes.
The distinction you draw between corrosion and explosion is exactly the kind of slow pressure I was interested in — damage that accumulates without announcing itself, that leaves things looking intact while something underneath has quietly shifted.
I’m glad the restraint came through, especially the decision not to explain or underline what was happening. For me, that sense of familiarity wearing down meaning — routines continuing, surfaces holding their shape — felt truer than any dramatic turn.
And yes, those closing lines mattered to me for the same reason you name: the world doesn’t pause just because something feels final to one person.
Thank you for spending the time with it and articulating that so clearly.
I’m really touched by your response, thank you for sharing it so thoughtfully. The idea of meaning quietly wearing down while the routine continues is hauntingly real and very human.
And yes, those closing lines stay with me too, precisely because they honor that continuity of life, even amid private endings or shifts. I’m grateful to get to witness your work and your careful attention to what you want it to convey.
Thank you so much Dipti.
I'm working through some essays for the new year if that's of interest, so people can see the starting points, notes, fragments, that get to the end thing published, including the bits that didn't make it.
I am definitely interested. Thanks Mark. I took a day off social media today. Hence the delay in responding.
Wonderful!
And social media free day?
Spot on!
Reading this the painting "Nighthawks" came to my mind. The same static disillusoined feeling.
Thank you so much Ashes for your reflection.
I’m actually new to Nighthawks, but after reading up on it a little I can really see why you made that connection.
The underlying architecture doing more work than the people inside it, the stillness that isn’t calm so much as settled — that static, disillusioned quality you named feels very close to what I was circling.
It’s a genuinely humbling comparison — thank you for seeing it that way.
For anyone curious, this is the painting I’m now staring at properly:
by Edward Hopper — well worth a look.
https://www.artic.edu/artworks/111628/nighthawks
I really liked how the micro-movements carry the weight here, the drip, the light, the glass placement. It feels like watching someone try to correct a story while the world keeps going anyway. Strong, restrained work.
Thank you so much Rose, for passing by, reading and your wonderful reflection.
Those are the smallest of moments, but they do a lot of the heavy lifting for the piece.
You note on the world just carrying on regardless, while someone tries to make sense and course correct, is spot on.
Thank you! 😊
вап
sssdfsdf
sss
cool
Thanks ☺️
👍
Thanks ☺️
Mark, you created this piece, “Acid Rain Ep 1”, and it’s truly a delicate and emotional work of scene writing. The loneliness and inner state of the character sitting at the bar are portrayed so finely that every small action, placing the glass, the drop of water, the dimming light, or the laughter, brings out his emotions. The repetition and attention to tiny moments convey the flow of time and the layering of feelings, drawing the reader into a quiet intensity and existential tension.
Mark, you showed how the character’s attempts to complete his story or come to terms with his emotions fail, and this makes his inner helplessness and isolation even more powerful. The circles of glasses, the dripping water, and the subtle sounds create a ritualistic and meditative feeling, forming a strong contrast between his emotional moments and the environment. This piece is not just atmospheric and introspective but also forces the reader to reflect on human emotions and the subtleties of silence, creating a hypnotic literary experience.
Thank you, Dawnithi!
Tthat’s a very attentive and wonderful reflection.
I’m especially moved by how you describe the tension between his inner state and the environment continuing its own quiet rituals. That contrast mattered a great deal to me while writing it.
I like the way you name the repetition as meditative rather than dramatic — those small actions, like the glass, and drip sounds weren’t meant to heighten emotion so much as let it surface on its own, without being guided or resolved.
I’m grateful you spent that kind of time with the piece, and that it held you in that quiet intensity for a while. That’s exactly where I hoped it would live.
You've helped me see it in a whole new way through your lens, which is something special😊
I appreciate your compliment...trust me, Mark, I didn't even notice your piece. I went to your account to see some notes and saw that it was new. I think you changed your timing. If that happens in the future, please tag me. Thank you.
Oh yes - will do!
My timing has shifted a little as we balance the joys of life!
Good writing lives in atmosphere, and this had it in abundance. I love scenes where tension does the heavy lifting and the reader is trusted to read "Between the Lines". Get it? 😉
Yep!😊
And thankyou Anna!
Very deliberate writing. The mood you created felt very real - you capture the scene exactly, late laughs, flickering lights, adjusted lights, circle marks of old glasses, creating enough tension with sounds - the drip, for the reader to expect something and keep reading.
“He set it down carefully, as if precision might count for something.
It didn’t.“
This made me laugh through my nose, that short breath, acknowledgement kind, where you recognize that movement and expectation in yourself and have seen it in others. To me it almost sums up the whole atmosphere you create.
Gub, I’m really glad that came through, and especially the way sound carries the tension rather than anything overt happening. I was aiming for those small adjustments and late arrivals to do some of the hidden or quiet work.
And yes, that line has a slightly cruel sense of recognition to it, doesn’t it?
And I've done that many more times than I'd like to recollect.
Thank you for such a close, attentive reading.
Mark..! this made me feel like I accidentally tiptoed into a grown-up room and wasn’t supposed to touch anything. I sat there very politely with my feelings folded in my lap while the drip went plip… plip… like it was counting something only it understood. I kept hoping the bar would do a big dramatic thing—spill a drink, gasp, break a glass—but no, it just kept being a bar, which felt extremely unfair and also exactly right.
The bartender scared me a little in that calm way, like when someone knows your order before you do and that somehow means they know too much. Everything lining up—glasses, cloth, light—felt like the room playing a game called “nothing is wrong,” and I wasn’t winning. The glass rings were my favorite and my enemy. They’re like little donut-shaped memories going I was here! I was here! and nobody even looks.
By the end I felt small and quiet and very aware of my own hands on the counter, like if I moved I’d make a scrape I didn’t mean to make. The story didn’t hug me or explain itself, it just let me sit there until I understood that sometimes endings don’t slam doors—they leave the glass behind and let the room keep going without you.
Asuka… this made me laugh and wince in exactly the same breath, which feels as fitting as it is painful.
That “grown-up room” feeling is such a perfect way of naming it — the politeness, the folded feelings, the absolute terror of knocking something over without meaning to.
And yes, the bar being deeply committed to just… being a bar felt unfair to me while I was writing it, so I’m glad it shared the load.
I love that you wanted it to gasp or spill or break something and it stubbornly refused. That’s very much the game it’s playing. And the way you describe the bartender — calm, knowing too much, order-before-you-do energy — is both delightful and slightly chilling in the best way. Maybe you know the bartender from before, as you regonised them so well?
Also: Donut-shaped memories is going to live under lease control in my head now. Those rings absolutely are tiny witnesses shouting “I was here!” into a room that does not turn around.
That last image you describe — hands on the counter, afraid of the accidental scrape — tells me you were exactly where the piece wanted you to be. No hug. No explanation. Just sitting until the room makes its point.
Thank you for entering so gently, and for describing the experience with such playful precision.
The drip definitely noticed you, as did the rain.
🤗 💛 🤗
I’m kinda imagining them going, “yes, small human detected.” 🤣
😂 😂 😂
This reminded me of Bladerunner, and the bar at the start of Andor, and the Wild West and a yellow detective novel from the thirties all rolled into one. Not a poem - a shot glass measure from a story I want to drink more fully!
And that unintentional scrape is still making my teeth tingle!
That’s a great way of describing it Moll!.
A shot-glass measure feels right. Those influences were definitely in the air while I was writing now i think back a bit, more as atmosphere than reference points.
I wanted that sense of a place that knows its rules and keeps them quietly.
And I’m glad the scrape lingered happy 😊
That tiny, unintended sound ended up doing more work than I expected.
Funny what a little scrape can do, just like finger nails running slowly down a blackboard too I guess?
Or a door that won’t shut cleanly?
Or [winces] a jagged fingernail catching in your clothes!
ahhh - yes!
the bit of quick that catches everytime you put your hand in you bag for your keys!
Shudders!