By this time we have established that our man , Mr. Crenshaw is a heavily smoking, blocked author haven't we?
Now the last time we left him was at his evening walk, thinking over his wretched job, pitying himself, feeling pathetic and uncreative.
This is a problem with creative types my friends! They spend half their time talking about how great their work is and what massive power drove them to make said work and then they spend the rest of their time feeling miserable and wallow in it, thinking how they are no good anymore.
Personally, I think its the excessive coffees and the cigarettes, but does anyone listen to me!
But now lets get back to the story shall we. To sum up he is blocked, feels pathetic and smokes.
Everyone up to speed?
Now that his train of thought was slowing down a bit and the light in the sky started to grow dark, he decided to do the everyman job of buying himself some eggs and bread from the tiny store in the nearby village.
Within the next 5 min the eggs were bought as was the bread and for dessert 2 dairy milks.
Since I don't want to describe exactly how he made his dinner of scrambled eggs and toast, I will just say that he ate his dinner.
Having filled his stomach, our author proceeded to his type writer in the hope that maybe that would more inspirational that his notebook and pen.
He sat down adjusted the ribbon, blew some air between the dusty keysand then spent the next half hour adjusting the margins of the pages.
When at last everything felt satisfactory, he sat up straighter, moved his bum around for finding the comfiest position, leaned his head back on the wall to gather all that he had thought during his evening walk.
And he fell asleep.
Why you ask if I knew that he fell asleep would I describe exactly what he did before it ? Well because I am telling a rambling story, but you knew that from the start, what are you complaining about it now!