There is a story inside me, he declared.
Then show me that, barked the old man.
But, I can't do that.
There he goes. He has a story and he can't show that.
You don't understand. You haven't written one, have you?
How can you be so sure? If you don't show me your story I will have to extract it from you. I will rip it out page by page.
No! You can't do that, the very thought numbs my brain. I have to keep a level head to reveal my story.
Level head? I can behead you and keep it on a platter so that it's level.
You are insensitive. Now I am sure that you haven't written anything.
You are testing my patience.
And you are killing my muse.
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