Burt was a sneaky writer who carried a notebook everywhere. He jotted down observations and bits of conversation. An image inspired him--taffy, for example.
Burt hid in closets, cubbyholes, under stoops, lingering in dark stairwells, crawling under tables at events. He aspired to be a modern day Bob Woodward.
He hid under a couch during a private knitting circle. Someone saw his foot sticking out. Screaming ensued, followed by death by knitting needle.
Burt was buried in an unmarked grave, with only squirrels sneaking around searching for nuts. Such is the fate of most writers. Bloggers never sneak in society. We have very good memories and don't need notebooks.
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