Today I was sitting in a park and I got an idea for a story. I took out my notebook, opened her up, and tried to write with my pen. It was out of ink, completely, and no matter how hard I shook it nothing would come out.
"Fuck you," I said, and then I looked up and saw two men, dressed as if preparing for a run, standing in front of me. They must have been walking by, and of course had to be placed in hearing distance of my mini tantrum.
"Sorry," I said. "I was talking to my pen."
And they stared at me. They stared at me in a way I've never been stared at before. I really can't describe it, but it made me feel very off, and they left.
Run, boys, run.
Funny. I'll never be able to forget those stares, but for the life of me I can't remember the story I wanted to write down.
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