"The writer is a total hack, but at least he's better than the other guy".

'Other guy? I haven't seen anyone else around just that big oaf and his clumsy typewriter'.

“She said ‘write what you know’!”

“And this is what you know?!”

“Yes! I mean no! I mean, look I know the setting, the characters but don’t ‘know’ the plot. Its just a story!”

“How can we believe that? It is far too plausible – even you must see that?”

“Well, sure but c’mon! It’s clearly fiction. None of this would actually happen.”

“Again, how can we believe you? This could really happen-”

“Yes! Could!”

“-and you have means, opportunity, motive – it’s all spelled out in the story.”

“Yes, it's a story! That’s all! There is no way I would do any of this. It’s just, like… just getting stuff out. Just me being creative.”

“This is you being creative?!”

“Ma- look, that’s what we’re meant to do. It's just exploring, creating, seeing other possibilities. We’re meant to express ourselves through art - otherwise all this would happen for real!”

“So it is going to happen?!”

“Whoa! No! That’s not what I meant. I just… look, I wrote a story and clearly you all thought it was really good to cause all this but it’s just a story. That’s it, plain and simple. Nothing in here is real. Yes, the characters are people I know, and yes, the setting is here but even that isn’t 100% ‘real’. This is where the vague line between reality and fiction is drawn. It’s just my imagination using what I’ve got to work with.”

“This is what you imagine?!”

“Far out. Yes Ma, I imagined it but that does not mean I am capable of any of it, or would act on it. It’s just a story!”

“Well, in the best interests of the parties involved I feel it is wise you stop writing ‘stories’ like this.”

“You have got to be kidding. What if I’m really good at this, huh? What if someone told King to ‘stop’ or Shelley to just ‘stop’ or, or Tarantino to ‘stop’?”

“Well perhaps someone should have.”

 “Look I think we can all agree that until such time as you become a King or a Shelley or a Taranto-”

“Taran-TI-no”

“-Whomever - until then you are to refrain from creating such work as this.”

“Wow. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Well it is happening so best get used to it.”

“Do you not see how illogical that is?”

“It is perfectly logical, end of discussion.”

“Oh, this discussion has barely begun.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Ugh!”

 “I thought you loved me.”

 “I did.  I do love you.  It’s just that I’ve got to move on.  We’ve come to the end.”

 “Can’t you read me over again?”

“I could, but there’s another book I’m interested in.”

“There’s another book?!  You’ve been looking at other books while reading me?”

 “Not seriously, just skimming through the pages.”

 “Skimming you say, and was it hard cover or paperback?”

 “I don’t think that matters.  It's neither, it's on a Kindle. Besides, you can’t judge a book by…”

 “Don’t say it.  A Kindle? Are you having a mid-life crisis? Where's the Corvette and 18-year old babe?”

 “What's your point?”

 “I don’t know what the point of having more than one book if it’s a good one, like me.”

 “Because I like to read, that’s why. No one reads just one book!”

 “If you had one book to take on a desert island, what would it be?”

 “I don’t know; the dictionary.”

“That’s not a book, that’s an autopsy report.”A real good book is about the arrangement of words to create life that lives forever!”

“Okay, War and Peace.”

”How can anyone remember all those names?  You don’t have the stamina to tackle Tolstoy.”

“Moby Dick.”

 “Too wet.”

 “Grapes of Wrath.”

 “Too dry.”

 “I’m picking a book not a wine.”

 “Both should be chosen with good taste and knowledge.”

 “One Hundred Years of Solitude, on a desert island, final answer.”

 “Did you even once think of choosing me?  Of course not, I’m yesterday’s news. So, what’s the new one?”

 “I’m still browsing.”

“You’ve already given it my bookmark haven’t you?  Where’s my bookmark?  You’ve put it in another book haven’t you?  That bookmark’s been around hasn’t it?”

“What are you talking about? It is right here, brand new, the same one the bookstore gave me when I picked you up.”

“So that’s how you think of it?  I feel so cheap.”

“I paid full price.  I heard lots of good reviews.  My friends really enjoyed you.”’

“You and your friends like to gossip, swap me.  I’m a great piece of pulp, is that it?”

“I never said that.”           

“So typical, always so cryptic, you share nothing of yourself.  While I’m an open…”

 “Don’t say it.”

 “Well, I have a bit of gossip myself. It seems your sister wants me. She needs something interesting to take with her on vacation.”

 “Don’t be absurd.  You’re not her type.”

 “Don’t be too sure. I heard her say she was tired of dating losers and really just wanted to crawl in bed with a good book. I may be a little dog earred and my binding isn't as tight as it used to be but I still know how to captivate a reader.”

 “Well, it’s not going to happen. I mean, she can buy her own book, why does she want mine?”   

 “I thought you were done with me. What do you care? 

 “Listen, I’ve changed my mind. What’s the rush? Why I haven't even finished you yet! Remember when I couldn't put you down? I took you everywhere and you were all I talked about. I lost myself in you.  I’ll reread you over and over. I’ll take you out with me to restaurants, parks, Starbucks, wherever you want. In fact, how about we go to the beach like the good old days? Let me get your dust jacket.”

“I’m thinking about taking up smoking.”

“You? Why?”

“Because I can never figure out what to do with my hands.”

“You had an asthma attack on the 7^th day of Hanukkah.”

“Wax fumes.”

“On the 5^th night, too, I think.”

“Dust from the menorah.”

“The 4^th of July….”

“Sparklers.  These are cigarettes, entirely different.”

“You’re too concerned with your hands.”

“I have wandering hand syndrome.”

“Which is not a real thing.”

“If legs can be restless, my hands can wander.”

“I don’t think it works that way…”

“I slapped someone yesterday, a complete stranger, unintentionally.”

“And smoking will fix this?”

“Joe Camel never slapped anyone.”

“He was a camel as fictional as your diagnoses.”

“I might take up the harmonica instead.”

“You loiter too much.”

"Where are we going?"

"Flatbush."

"No, I mean where are we going, going?"

"No. We are not doing this again."

"Everything seems so empty."

"Because most people don't take the subway at 3:00 in the morning!"

"It feels like an endless journey..."

"We. Live. In. The. Bronx."

"But it all goes by so fast."

"That would be the point of a train."

"Pretty soon, we'll all just be under ground."

"We're already under ground, it's the godamn subway!"

"And what do you think comes after?"

"Oh, God."

"Really? I thought you were an agnostic."

"I'm definitely starting to believe in hell."