“We’re going to write a six-word autobiography.” A six-word what? “Here’s an example!” she said, cheery as all get-out. Supposedly Ernest Hemingway had written a six-word story, like a thousand years before. Miss Amber had memorized it: For sale: baby shoes, never worn. Then she explained what the words meant. The baby hadn’t survived, and so that’s why the parents had to sell the baby shoes. Get it? Never worn. I know.
