"God, I can't write."
“Yes you can,” the other boy said. “If anyone in this goddamn town can write, it’s you. And if you even dare to disagree with me then you’re dumb, which is something that I have never believed you to be.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” he said. “I mean, I’m too drunk to write – the words simply won’t come.”
“No, you aren’t because you don’t drink. You hate the taste of alcohol, remember? If you did drink, I’d know. Trust me. I know every single little detail about you and nowhere in the recipe to make you does it say pollutes his body with alcohol.”
“I know, but I couldn’t help it this time. It just sort of happened.”
“Okay, then what’d you get drunk on?”
“On you,” he replied. “And when I’m drunk on you, I can’t write a damn thing because you won’t get out of my head long enough.”
“Well then write about me, that’s always been easy, you’ve said so yourself.”
YOU ARE READING
Conversations
Short Story❝oral exchange of sentiments, observations, opinions, or ideas.❞ a series of unrelated stories told only through dialogue in which two anonymous characters share bits and pieces of themselves with the reader.
