Progress…of a sort


We were getting ready for work.

“Are you over your funk now?” JJ asked after stepping out of the shower. I have to say, that man looks good wet. It’s almost a crime when he dries off and puts clothes on.

I was searching through the dresser for a shirt. “Not quite, but I will no longer inflict it on you if that’s the real question.”

“You’re being an asshole.” 

“Yes, I am.” I decided I was in a ‘blue’ mood today and chose accordingly. “I’m entitled once in a while.”

“There’s a stain on that one,” he said behind me.

I grumpily removed it and tossed it into a wastebasket. “Shit.”

“Planning to be an asshole all day?”

“Nope. In fact, this was a good thing, finding out I sold almost no copies of any of my stories.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Well, when I was writing all the time, I hardly made time to exercise. I kept blaming the Muse for turning me into a stodgy couch potato with legs. Now, I can tell the Muse to go fuck herself and get my muscle mass back. For christ’s sake, my biceps are turning into pasta.”

He wisely did not agree, or I may have punched him out and what man would want to have to tell people that a Pasta Monster gave him a black eye? 

Dressed, we grabbed keys and Suki and left. As we walked downstairs, he said, “Writing today?”

I shrugged. “I’ll decide that later.”

Once we hit the sidewalk, we went in opposite directions. I was almost glad he didn’t wish me a good day.
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About Fenraven

Fenraven happily lives in south Florida, where it is really hot most of the year. Find him on Twitter, Google +, and Facebook by searching on 'fenraven'.
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