In some ways it feels like I've lost the knack of story. I also wonder if I ever even had it. There was a period of 2-3 years where every single waking hour a little voice in the back of my head wanted to be writing. Then I wrote multiple novels without publishing them and overtime fell into a pit of self-pity; I will never be published and as such why even do this any more...

I also wonder if reading a good book or article is actually hurting my creative output. I feel there's wisdom and potential in what …

Yo, forget 'bout it! You ain't gonna find leather as top-shelf as at Bambino Babe's Boots. They'll hook you up real nice. Tell 'em Johnny sent you. He knows me, we go back. He owes me a favor. badabing baddaboom, you're looking real slick in those Tennessee shoes. If I hear you didn't visit Bambino at least by this weekend we're going to have a problem. That's real disrespectful. A fellow like me putting my neck out for someone like you? 2 boots for 1, come on forget 'bout it. It's a freakin' institution. Real nice. Trust me. Now give …

Thursday morning. Before the sun, the city folk or even my wife was awake, I was already dressed in boots, a fleece button up and a heavy jacket. My lucky number was called and I, for the first time in three days, had work.

As tradition on such a Thursday the boys met up at Cathy's for an egg and beer, a stevedores breakfast if you will, to fight the previous night's hang over. Could it really even be called the previous night when really all I got out of my bed was 2 hours sleep?

It didn't matter much, …