You mentioned this publisher, Hippocketpress, and it reminds me of an experience I had. There used to be pocketbooks, what maybe then were called paperbacks, and they sort of fit in a pocket.
Some years back I was walking down the street in Long Beach, CA. I think it was even Long Beach Blvd. And there is a woman walking in front of me wearing some short cut off jeans. Pretty nice. You might say, to tie it to this website theme, a heavenly body, but you might decide not to say that, in the interest of avoiding cliche, anon anon.
So in the hip pocket of those cut off jeans, she has a pocketbook, even a hippocketbook. Yes, World’s Greatest Short Short Stories.
That is my favorite short short story. Might have been a longer story, but in those days, as ever, I don’t talk to women.
Nicely done, tying your story to our theme here. When I read your second sentence, I read “pickpockets” instead of “pocketbooks”; which prompted me to wonder: What is reading really, except a kind of anticipation, a kind of expectation, which leads (always) to a series of corrected errors, big and small. (I’m trying to be ultra deep here, tying my comment to the current background theme here: the Hubble Ultra Deep Field photo).
I heard from the HipPocketPress Canary editor yesterday: she published another of my poems, “Termites” in the just up Spring 2011 edition. I have a fan.
Still raining here. Will it ever stop?