by Chris Galvin
They're breaking down the doors to get in. It becomes a writers' hangout. A literary salon. Coffee is served and quaffed in great quantities. Croissant crumbs float gently down onto manuscripts.
In one corner, a pianist plays a Bach partita, a shaft of mote-filled sunlight illuminating her dancing left hand.
Words are written. Hashtags exchanged. But membership is limited to 140 characters.
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Just read Jerry Ratch's humourous little poem "twitter quitter" and this bit of silliness fell onto the page.
His poem:
http://fictionaut.com/stories/jerry-ratch/twitter-quitter
Chris. come join twitter quitter! hurry!
Love the 140 characters line.
Love this, particularly the middle paragraph. *