I stared out into the fog. I had too much time on my hands. My magazines were boring. I'm tired of watching TV. I drive around with no destination or purpose. Talking to pigeons in the park only satisfies for so long. You can only fondle your own buttocks for so long before that too becomes boring.
I am an adult. I should have a goal. Jogging in place and feeding my fish is not a goal. I used to make duck sounds at parties, when I used to be invited out.
What is my contribution, the point of my life? I have a responsibility to be responsible. After brooding for an hour, I made a fist and punched the air. Enough, Time to return to serious work. I sat behind my computer and began typing.
The world awaits my next book, Word Felonies-Switchblade Stories 11.
Writing for serious adults.
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