The other day I was talking to some inebriated crank about writing.  Perhaps it’s the least of my problems, but specifically I was lamenting my inability to write a metaphor.  “I don’t think I’ve ever even written one,” I moaned, “they’re important, ya know.  Metaphors are the calling card of a writer.”  Unaware of my well timed loss of metaphorical virginity, the IC was quick to point out my bumbling brilliance.

Moving on.  I’ve got a good thing going with Shut-in.  We help each other with home repairs.  He comes over to help me with my house.  Then I go over to help him with my house.

Good Lord.  This reads like some Readers Digest drivel.  I quit.