For the short story reader. Updated every Monday.

The Short Form

“Titus Hoyt, I.A.”

V. S. Naipaul


I said, “The Trinidad Guardian? The paper? What, me writing to the Guardian! But only big big man does write to the Guardian.”

Titus Hoyt smiled. “That's why you writing. It go surprise them.”

I said, “What I go write to them about?”

He said, “You go write it now. Write. To the Editor, Trinidad Guardian. Dear Sir, I am but a child of eight (How old you is? Well, it don't matter anyway) and yesterday my mother sent me to make a purchase in the city. This, dear Mr Editor, was my first peregrination (p-e-r-e-g-r-i-n-a-t-i-o-n) in this metropolis, and I had the misfortune to wander from the path my mother had indiciated—”

I said, “Oh God, Mr Titus Hoyt, where you learn all these big words and them? You sure you spelling them right?”

Titus Hoyt smiled. “I spend all afternoon making up this letter,” he said.

We read it in Miguel Street.