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.