A Muse Like a Spoiled Child

Pig started drinking at noon on Saturdays, if he’d eaten a good breakfast and washed the dishes and didn’t have any plans for the rest of the day.

It was halfway through the third beer, almost two hours after opening the first, when he felt at his best, when the ideas rolled fast down his arms, transformed into words as his finger tapped at the keys.

Exhilaration, inspiration, joy.

When he opened the fourth, his thoughts cramped, his fingers tensed, would no longer respond, sentences blurred and sputtered, crashed, and died.

But for a moment, somewhere in the middle he…

 

Advertisements

One thought on “A Muse Like a Spoiled Child

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s