In finance, a “shortie” or “shorty” can refer to a short-term investment or a short position (betting that a stock will decrease in value)
A short film or video
A short story or piece of writing
A short drink (as opposed to a tall one)
Short shorts or short pants
The meaning typically depends on the context in which it’s used. Is there a specific context you’re interested in?
Cord gritted his teeth—why did an AI answer end with an invitation to chat more? (He knew, of course, that it was all about user engagement but that didn’t make it any less annoying.) Cord went back to his car, unlocked the door, tossed his phone in the vehicle, locked it, and strode into the church of his youth. Cord had been sober for maybe ten hours since the last green sip of the last bottle in Charlotte’s liquor cabinet (crème de menthe). He saw a sign with a triangle, the symbol for AA meetings, and an arrow. The thought crossed his mind that he could ask his AI chatbot what, exactly, the meaning of the triangle was, but then he realized he had no phone and honestlywho cared about this random information?
He pushed through a swinging door, following the signs. The hallway smelled of industrial cleaner and instant coffee. Room204 was empty except for a few couches and chairs and a folding table holding a coffee urn and store-bought sugar cookies. The Twelve Steps were framed on the wall. Cord did feel powerless. He did. That was Step One, “Feeling Powerless.” He wanted his phone and a Scotch.
Cord hesitated in the doorway, wondering if he had the wrong day. Without his fucking device, he didn’t know what time it was. He had long coveted an Omega Speedmaster Gemini IV watch. He could afford it. Why didn’t Cord treat himself?
A middle-aged woman emerged from a side room, carrying a stack of pamphlets.
“You’re here for the meeting?” she asked, sinking into a chair. She had a child’s pink barrette in her hair.
Cord nodded. He took four strides, sat on a couch, and examined his Hoka sneakers. He jammed a throw pillow under his lower back. When he had gone to meetings regularly, he’d usually brought a notebook and pen, just to have somewhere to look while people spoke. Sometimes, he’d taken notes or drawn elaborate castles with turrets and drawbridges.
A few people entered the room. They all seemed to be teenagers. One boy caught Cord’s eye—lanky, with headphones around his neck and an oversize sweater despite the warm weather. His defensive posture, the careful way he scanned the room, reminded Cord of himself.
The teens glanced at Cord curiously as they arranged themselves in the circle, some sprawling, others sitting ramrod straight. When the room was full—about fifteen kids ranging from what looked like thirteen to eighteen—the facilitator addressed the group. “Is anyone a newcomer to Alateen today?”
“Oh, no,” said Cord. “I thought this was AA. I’m sorry.”
The kids’ heads swiveled to stare at him. “AA is in an hour,” said the woman.
“You can stay,” said the kid with the headphones. “If you want.”
“I never went to Alateen,” said Cord. “I should have, probably.” Some of the kids laughed; Cord felt buoyed. “I’m a double winner,” explained Cord—this was “recovery speak” for a child of an alcoholic who had become an alcoholic.
“Stay, it’s cool,” another teen murmured.
