Supposedly, Hemingway once wrote a story in six words: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." I'm no Hemingway, but I dig the idea of ultra-short stories.
I write them from time to time. You might like some. You can find me on Twitter at @dcwllms.
There was precious little light in the elevator but he could just make out the hands of his watch: eleven p.m. - on Friday. Monday morning was an awfully long way off. He pulled out another Pringle and ate it.
Two young men were sitting at a table. They'd pushed their pitcher of beer aside, leaning in close to whisper conspiratorially. When they left, I wandered over. On a napkin, was a diagram that looked suspiciously like a flux capacitor.
“Your attention please, for a lost and found announcement. The following items were left over the holiday shutdown: one women’s shoe, heel broken; three boxes of wine, empty; and several photocopies...of a man’s...bottom. If these effects belong to you, please collect them at your earliest convenience.”
Jerry’s voice sounded strange over the hissing speaker.