Here's a third short short, why not:
Tolstoy And I Go Trolling
“You’re Leo Tolstoy,” I said.
“That’s right.” After that, I bought him a drink. After that came more and more. We wandered the streets growling and listening to the clicks of garbage articulate the wind. We stopped every now and then for drinks or to pee. Leo peed outside with his hand on the wall in front of him, leaning. He called me a Mother Fucker, then apologized.
In another bar, we met two women and he flirted with both. When he went to the bathroom I told them he was my grandfather. The two women liked his beard and how lewd he was without being creepy.
“He’s not even creepy,” one of them said. He went home with both of them and I went home alone.
In the morning he called me. Tolstoy woke me up.
“You’ve got to pick me up,” he said. “Last night was just awful. I feel awful.”
“Where are you,” I asked. He was very far north, so I asked him to take the train.
“The train?” he said. “You Mother Fucker.” After that, I couldn’t get back to sleep. I lay in bed instead, thinking about Tolstoy on the train.
Tolstoy called me an hour or two later. He was home. He was safe.
“Look,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I said, “Yup.” Then we were out of things to talk about.