"That's right, funny chap, you're a frog! You're hilarious earthling! Outright outrageous! Looksee, just a frog, nothing else to see."
"A fucking fake..."
"Ladies and gentlemen, a cake!"
"A what? Look fella's, nothing more to see here!"
"What's the matter?" So I handed him the story. "I've lost it man. I've lost my mojo."
"Oh...it's our conversation." So he scratched his head and lit up a cigarette. "Funny. I always thought it was genetic," exhaled a plume of Menthol, stared hard into the distance, continued, "Do you know how it happened?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know." So a cigarette appeared before me. I took it, let him light it. "Thanks."
"Cheer up dreary earthling. All's not lost."
"What good am I, if I can't write? If I can't make or make feel?"
"You know, I believe we just have bad days, and good days sometimes."
I shrugged, and we settled back into our booths.
Then it happened. I noticed at first the increasing amount of Menthol coming from my ciggy, only it wasn't. It was coming in from the booth next to mine. So I looked over to find him gloating over his paper. He started smoking, long slow puffs at first, then faster, and faster, until plumes of Menthol were gushing into my booth like a chimney sweep.
"My god. Look at that. I did it. I doublethinked!"
"Really?" Bafflement coupled with admiration swelled up within me.
"Yeah, man! I really did!"
Then jealousy sunk it. "What'd you write about?"
"I don't have a fucking clue! Let's see. A squash! I wrote about a squash. Oh yes, thank the heavens, a squash! I'm no longer handicapped!"
The emotions leveled out in purgatory.
"Wow. Very good."
"More than very good! Fantastically good!"
"Why?" I was torn.
"Listen: You got it in one day. I've had it most my life. I thought it was genetic, but we've proven otherwise. While this one-day may be an exception, and I may never experience it again, or very little, I don't want to believe that. Instead, I'm going to assume entirely that I've been living one long bad day most my life. When I had said we have bad days and good days sometimes, I only said it to make you feel better--but we've proven otherwise so it must be true! We do have good days, and we have bad days."
The bell rung. Typewriters roared to life as an orchestra of strokes.
So I started writing. Slow at first, but it gradually picked up. So I was writing, but it was shitty. So I stopped and started over.