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Esquire, a magazine for gay lawyers, did this project where they asked famous authors to write stories on napkins. I thought that was pretty cool -- short, clipped, take-only-what-you-need fiction sounds like a nice idea. The results, though, are nearly universally awful:

From Madison Smartt Bell:

"I'm not going to dance with you," she said.

"I'm not going to ask you," Ryan said. He switched the glasses like a three-card-monte dealer. "Bourbon. Champagne. Bourbon."

"Whatever." She picked up the champagne and drank half of it. "This drek music," she said. "God, I hate this song."

"Look at that," he told her. "We do have something in common."

I kept waiting for a punchline, but apparently, the author writes this way on purpose. For comparison, read this excerpt from the unimpeachable Steve Almond:

I reach the registry and I wonder who I should sign in as, just thinking associatively: Miss Pacman, Miss Jackson-if-you're-nasty, Miss Led, Miss Taken, Miss Understood. I choose Miss Chubby Petunia because there's something awful about the hug of this dress.

I slide my finger up a few names and there he is: Ted Nugent, address: The Kingdom of Rock and Roll. Under the comments section, he's added what I take to be a seminal Nugent tenet: "I test drive all meat." A nice choice, really, in the grand scheme. Nicely done.

It's a wedding. I refuse to describe it in detail. I don't know why I'm here. I'm suddenly blurry on particulars. Am I related? Is this a work thing? It doesn't matter. The groom hovers around shaking hands. When there's a lull, a hand shortage, he goes out and finds more and pumps away. The bride's face is deep red, almost purple. She's gasping for breath because her gown is too tight. It makes her look like a giant fishbelly.

Yes, nicely done. I only found one Esquire napkin I liked, and they misspelled "Marty" in the transcription so that now, on first glance, the story appears to have something to do with a soda fountain.