At writers' group, Cynthia reads microstories (50 words). "Preposterous!" says Berend. "They are poems."
We bicker, then enjoy a beer. Sunday night I pen a romance: girl meets boy when dog sniffs dog. A Google miracle: Monday microstory contest deadline. Fame and book vouchers beckon. Why not? I click “Submit”.
It may not be great literature, but it's surprisingly difficult. Try it and see.
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