Dribs and Drabs of One Shots

Adam Weaver - An Average Day in New York

Imagine trying to write a play. Struggling, you go to a bar for some inspiration and meet a famous playwright who lends a hand.

A/N: This was requested a while ago and I must apologize for it taking so long! When I first wrote it, I hated it so I had to completely write it again! I hope this is good as it took me a while so feedback would be wonderful!

(gif not mine!)

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CHARLIE and LILY are outside the bar. CHARLIE looks at LILY longingly, waiting for her to speak.

LILY - It's too hard to explain, C.

CHARLIE moves closer to LILY.

CHARLIE - Then try.

LILY takes a step back.

LILY- You wouldn't understand.

CHARLIE - I want to try. Give me a chance.

CHARLIE moves closer to LILY. He places his hand on her cheek and

'No!' The paper was ripped from the typewriter, scrunched up into a ball and thrown towards the bin, narrowly missing.

I groaned in annoyance, slumping back against the hard, wooden chair as I stared up towards the ceiling.

For 6 days I had been trying to write the finishing scene of my play for my writing class. The project was the final one and counted towards the final grade. If I didn't get an A, my job opportunity with the local theatre would be gone. I had two days left to get it completely finished but with each tap at the machine, my chances for becoming a famous writer were growing more and more hopeless.

As if my luck couldn't get any worse, the phone rang. Sighing, I pushed myself from the chair and walked towards the small kitchen where the phone lived.

'Yeah?' I said, trying not to sound too depressed or tired or anything that sounded like answering a phone on a Friday night was the last thing I wanted to do.

'Get your ass down here now.'

I rolled my eyes, letting my body fall against the wall. There was no need for an announcement. I knew the voice too well. That and the fact that, every Friday, for the previous three weeks, like clockwork, the phone would ring with the same person on the other end of the phone.

'As much as I love you, Samantha, I'm really not in the mood.'

'Well get yourself in the mood. I've got a major issue.'

'I told you sleeping with your regular customers is a bad idea.'

I didn't need to see the girl to know that her face was scowling. 'For one minute could you not be a sarcastic bitch?'

'You called me,' I retorted with a smirk.

Samantha sighed. 'You're right. I'm sorry...It's just the bar is pretty busy and I think I might have screwed up.'

'Is that what you're calling about?'

'Nah, I can handle myself.'

'So then, what's your major issue?'

'You!' I held the phone away from my face, shocked but too surprised at the loudness of Samantha's voice. 'You always stay cooped up in your little rabbit hole and never come out and have fun!'

'That's because your kind of fun usually ends up with us either running from the cops or from scary gang members.'

'Ah, come on. That was only three-'