“What do you do here all by yourself?” he asked me.
I just write. Nonsense. Stories. Articles. Quick whips. Grocery lists.
I just write.
Most of it is probably nothing anyone will ever read. None of it tapped in to where I should be yet.
Eventually, it will tumble into place like a lock being picked. I just have to toy around in my head until I break open the lock.
Most important, kick the racist out. Bye Felicia.