Back in early 2001, I had this idea I called “works of unsolicited fiction”, in which little bits of fiction, from a few sentences to a single page long, would be sent around the city. On postcards, on stickers in subways, and mailed to generic positions in various companies and institutions. The idea would be that you’d be on the subway, or in a bar, or some executive at Goldman, and you’d suddenly and unexpectedly find yourself with a little piece of fiction. No author name, nothing but a piece.
I wrote a bunch of them (most a few sentences long), and I was recently looking over that document. I thought why not start sharing a few. They’re not especially good, but some of them still make me smile a bit.
Here’s today’s:
Sometimes Julie thinks about what kind of food she was brought up on, and how it sort of classifies her to a certain region. Her culinary tastes, like her accent, have the ability to place her on the map. Southwest, to be exact. Tamales, tacos, and chili.
Can I apply this to love, she asks herself.
