My Life is Absurd
Whenever I’m writing, I always feel like I need a dark, musty room full of empty beer bottles, an ashtray full of cigarette butts, a chaos of papers on my desk, a typewriter in front of me, and a bemused expression on my face.  I might be reading too much Jack Kerouac.

Whenever I’m writing, I always feel like I need a dark, musty room full of empty beer bottles, an ashtray full of cigarette butts, a chaos of papers on my desk, a typewriter in front of me, and a bemused expression on my face.  I might be reading too much Jack Kerouac.