On April 2, 2009, our sister company Banjo Brothers launched this piece of micro-fiction via their Twitter feed. The story was written by Ian Pratt, and takes place in Minneapolis. For more about the event, check out this blog post from the Oregonian. Enjoy the story:

Tweet #1 -

Stone Arch, 4pm. It’s written on the back of a photo: a perfect smile, framed by curls of brown hair. I wonder what color her eyes are.

Tweet # 2 -

I’m already on my bike and out the door. It’s only 8:30, but I’ll take my time. I can’t be late this time. I might not get another chance.

Tweet #3:

I have the next 7 hours to figure it out. Why I skip work to run around town, following her little notes. Love? Sure, it’s a popular theory.

Tweet # 4: (9:30am)

I wanted the #Greenway to myself, but it’s full of commuters, dogs, vagrants, hipsters, fixed gears, racers. Maybe the company’s not so bad.

Tweet # 5 (10:00am)

My second time down the #Greenway, going slower still, as slow as possible. Still plenty of time to kill. Enough time to reminisce a little

Tweet #6 (10:30am)

Her first note was a list of books. Vonnegut, mostly, but also some Camus and Wallace. Most I’d read before, but I read them all again.

Tweet #7 (11:00am)

I’ve spent the past hour riding with my eyes closed. I finally open them somewhere in the warehouse district. The new stadium looks nice.

Tweet #8 (11:30am)

Her second note was a hand drawn self portrait and a recipe for cranberry muffins. Her portrait was beautiful. The muffins were delicious

Tweet #9 (12:00pm)

Is it bad that I’m drinking a beer at noon? I stopped at Brit’s to settle my nerves. I’ve been going since 8. I’m a bowl of jelly.

Tweet #10 (12:30pm)

Her third note was personal. Too personal to share. I can’t even taste the beer, but I can feel my legs again. I order another.

Tweet #11 (1:00pm)

My boss just called. Where am I? Why am I not at the office? I’m drinking, I tell him. Her again? he asks. I hang up. I order another.

Tweet #12 (1:30pm)

Her fourth note was a picture of the stone water tower in Tangletown with “Noon” scrawled on the back. A flat tire and I showed up at 12:45.

Tweet #13 (2:00pm)

She was long gone, but she left a note: “How nice — to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.” I won’t lie, I cried.

Tweet# 14

It was two months before her next note, the one I’m holding. I thought I’d blown it. I kept my bike tuned just in case. No flat tire today.

Tweet #15

A little wobbly. From the beer, from fatigue, from fear, from what? It’s almost 4. I hop off the saddle and walk it towards the bridge.

Tweet #16

I’m here I’m here early, I’m here! Do I feel nothing? I need her to tell me, I need her. I hear the soft hiss of my front tire going flat.

Tweet# 17

Both tires are flat now. Things fall apart, right? It’s a long walk home. No sign of her yet. Vonnegut was wrong, I do feel something.