Dirty Scavenger

I had run out of ideas. A blank slate. A writer's worst nightmare. I slid into depression. Who was I if I couldn't write?
I sank to leaning over at Starbucks to see what others were creating.Term papers. An MFA thesis. A Grocery list. Pathetic. Visiting friends, I'd scour their rooms, looking for scraps of paper with ideas. I grew desperate. My health suffered. Personal hygiene disappeared. I looked slovenly.
One day, I found a copy of Poets & Writers and saw an ad for an Idea Landfill in Garfield, NJ. For $5 one could spend hours searching piles of discarded or damaged ideas.
Finally I found a gem. It centered on a writing prompt group that met every Saturday. Ten serious scribes. But one was evil. He'd invite one of the others to his home for a home cooked meal. Then he'd slip something into the wine to knock them out. Then he dismembered the body and cooked and ate them. This way he gradually eliminated the competition.
I had to create an ending.
At least my mind was spinning again.
Later, I found out James Paterson bought out the entire Idea Landfill. The man is insatiable.