Writers are odd.
The other side of the desk, Bill has a vacant look. His pen hovers in the air.
'You know Jack,' he says. 'I always considered myself a promiscuous writer.'
See what I mean?
'How so, Bill?' I say.
'Well, I'll write anything for any old publication. It never bothered me where as long as I had the work.'
'Well, it made you rich.'
'It did. Yet giving so much away by just inking two words is uncomfortable.'
'Even so, Bill, it's what you requested. And as your lawyer I have to witness you sign the divorce papers.'
The other side of the desk, Bill has a vacant look. His pen hovers in the air.
'You know Jack,' he says. 'I always considered myself a promiscuous writer.'
See what I mean?
'How so, Bill?' I say.
'Well, I'll write anything for any old publication. It never bothered me where as long as I had the work.'
'Well, it made you rich.'
'It did. Yet giving so much away by just inking two words is uncomfortable.'
'Even so, Bill, it's what you requested. And as your lawyer I have to witness you sign the divorce papers.'
