His main task was to get the right story for the right audience. He always felt he came up short in his duties. For there will always be someone who didn't quite agree with the stories he picked. It was a bitter pill for him to digest. That's when he met the doctor. It was in a seedy bar in the by-lanes of Mumbai. The doc was drunk and was shouting at anyone who dared to go near him. Pretty soon the bartender had to kick the doc out. That's when the doc uttered the magic words "Art is subjective you fool. Just like your wife."
Looks like the fog just spared my window to the street. The street lights looked liking smokers in an alley. The cobble stones were wet from the drizzle. The street dogs were busy barking at something. A breeze just unsettled the garbage can's lid. My world hasn't changed much. Everyday I look for some sign of change. Nothing seems to change. I have grown bald. My eyesight has dimmed. My kids have grown. The window pane has gathered dust and dirt. The spiders have evolved. Some old buildings have given way to new ones. The neon signs have gone. Still nothing seem to have changed. Change they say has to come from within. But then, what can come out of an empty narrow dead end?
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