I’ve been reading some Hemingway lately, so I got in a little challenge with myself. Remember the bet he made with his friends that he could write a short story in six words? Remember what it was?
For Sale: baby shoes, never worn.
I can’t quite get it out of my head, conjuring up phrases with not even half the amount of anticipation his six words had, counting on my hand to six all day. So to challenge myself, I decided this week’s edition wouldn’t take you dear readers two-and-a-half-minutes to read, but rather two-and-a-half-seconds to read. I know, I know, who hasn’t done this before. Well, I’ll tell you who: me.
Please don’t expect his level of artistry. I think if you write with economy, each word has to say that much more, creating a bit more expectation. But I do think my version will leave you with a few “how?” and “why?” questions. It’s not titled because that seems like cheating the six-word limit.
So, here goes:
Driving, clutching toll booth girl’s address.