"Lotta traffic coming and going from the hotel today." The cab driver slammed the trunk closed.
Geoffrey murmured something that sounded vaguely like agreement. He didn't want to talk. All he'd done for the past three days was listen to aspiring writers tell him why their novel was the next "big thing". He was tired of smiling and feigning interest, knowing that even though these writers were passionate about their works, they didn't have that elusive ... it.
They rode in blessed silence for to...
Published on September 27, 2009 07:04