Bag

The design on the hardcover was plain, perhaps meant to be hidden by a missing jacket. So many pages, bound together, challenged my recent creative constipation. “I’m ready to give up. I don’t think it’s inspired enough.”

“Inspired?” Her lips curled up, puckering slightly. I wonder if she knew what she was doing, if it was her form of revenge, her way of rubbing in the salt of my failed and misjudged confession of love. “It’s a movie review for a weekly tutorial. Write anything.”

“I finished that,” I said. “I thought you were asking about my novella.”