he downs the second bottle of wine and then curses the beer for not tasting as good
the rectangular desk before him looks round now and his chair grows wheels
all the insects in the apartment crawl under the clock on the wall and spin the hands backwards
lots of things are happening but the story before him doesn’t write itself The paper is still pale the pen still frozen The next word will never come out let alone the next line
He leans back and the demon calls from the other side of the window and tells him to hurry up
“That’s not how writing works,” he whispers back
But he doesn’t know how it works anymore
So he just stands and walks to the window opens it and answers the call
"It's not that it was the worst but it was very bad," the old man said. "I wasn't hanging but the noose was so thick around my frail neck. I was nine. And the forest was dark. Night. And holding me, they made my old man dig a deep hole. He did as they said to buy my freedom. They untied me then and put the rope around my old man's arms and legs and threw him in the hole and covered him up with dirt. They didn't make me watch. But I did. I wanted to photograph their faces with my eyes to burn their smirks under my eyelids. Well, the saddest thing about it all is that they died, all of them were caught and condemned to death before I was old enough or strong enough to hunt down and kill them myself. The greatest regret of my life. The world, you see, has no true justice It never had. You see, young man, that's why I can never be a child of God. He wants us all to forgive. I can't. Don't want. Will not. Ever. So instead of going to church I pass out in bars like this one. It's been my favorite lately And you're my only friend, young man. You're the only one weird enough to listen to this old, demented fool's stories."
"I'll always listen," I said. "Here, how about another drink?"
"Another drink, sure. Thanks. But I'm afraid you won't be listening to these stories for long. I'm going away, young man."
"Where?"
"Well, to court first and then definitely to prison."
"To prison at your age? What did you do?"
The old man smiled a toothless smile. "Old as I am, I used to have front teeth, you know? Well, the reason I no longer have them... I bit a child's ear off. It was his face. It reminded me of them. Belonged to the same race. So I figured... you know, maybe he was one of their descendants. It was the least I could do. All I could do... I told you I'm crazy. I told everyone."
he owned one pair of shoes four pairs of socks one pair of pants a tank top two t-shirts and a sweatshirt
he’d lost the cap in his last dice game.
“well, hell, doesn’t matter, broke the spell,” he chanted, “therefore somehow, someway luck is gonna come my way and why not here, now, today?”
the dreams haven’t left the dreams were still in him, in his soul ready to explode
47 manuscripts: 14 novels, 7 novellas, and 26 short stories he carried in his pack along with his socks his other t-shirt a knife six pens he stole from the library where he wrote a candy bar and an old dull razor
he wasn’t so young anymore the beard and gray hairs made him look much older surely the hunger had affected that as well
but it didn’t matter he was going to make it one day, some day soon
“The angriest I ever got,” she said, “Was with an ex-boyfriend, of course. I just wanted him to die. But like, not casual wanting him to die. Really, really wishing with all my might that he’d drop dead. I felt I couldn’t go on living as long as I knew he was alive. I had to do something about it. I was literally about to explode. So, to prevent that, I got dressed and despite the rain and all I went straight to the nearest pet shop. Bought me a hamster. And with a red marker, I wrote my boyfriend’s name on its back. And then slammed that hamster against the wall 134 times. For the 134 hours we’d been together. I calmed down after that. But, you know, I don’t like talking about myself all that much. Tell me about yourself. Also, what should we get from the menu? Have you decided yet?”
Daydreaming as a profession 