The man sat at a small, round, wooden table. On the table were an open notebook and a cup of Earl Grey tea. The man looked around at the people getting their afternoon caffeine fix, then out the window to the rain pounding the strip mall parking lot, then back to the notebook. Random words were scrawled on the page: rain, Spring, taxes, TV, lost love, Census, Mondays of Lore.
Taking a sip of tea, the man thought, It would be so much easier if I could crack my skull open and lay my brain on the page. After a moment’s thought, he added, That’s probably more performance art than writing. With a sigh and muttered, “Damn,” the man looked out at the rain hoping for an idea.