Text message from unfamiliar number on my phone last night,
"hope u feel better :). i'd love to see u agen, u cud come round my house if ud like! x"
After calling today to enquire as to "Who?" a bloke at the other end hung up, then texted asking who I was. Back and forth sms showdown, interspersed with contacting an old girlfriend who were into Cud. I clued my mystery admirer into checking his sent messages and then searched my email for the name he gave. Turned out he were a student I'd given study assistance to for two hours last term. As he's not bothered to convince me of his amorous intent, I'm not going to return his.
By the time I check my emails, Matt Badham clues me in on Smallplaces, "a book, a Twitter novel", by someone in Bakersfield.
More here about Twitterfiction,
This page by a Texan has a widget.
Is this flash fiction any good ? And the Jam Factory exhibition ? And No Barcodes ? Look, I dunno. My feet hurt, and the sugary tea is beginning to wear off. Oh, and I haven't cut my nails.
Time to go.
