Nick sat at his desk, writing away. He only had half an hour before he had to leave for luncheon with Gatsby, so he wanted to get all of his ideas onto paper as quickly as he could.

Nick wrote about Gatsby, wrote about how Gatsby looked, made him feel, was, acted; and he wrote about things he wished he could do with Gatsby.

Under the sun and the blue sky, all of him would twinkle to me. If only I could look at him the way I want to; if only he could see me the way I see him. It’s hardly possible, but he’s a wondrous man.

Nick wrote quickly, in a fine, neat hand. As he realized that the time for the luncheon had quickly approached, he, finding himself frustrated, cursed under his breath and wrote one more line:

And by god, he’s terribly annoying.

Nick tucked his little journal into his satchel and headed to the luncheon to dine with Gatsby. Once arrived, he spotted Gatsby. He sat next to him and smiled, panting a little. “I walked part of the way and ran the rest; I’m sorry I’m a bit late. I didn’t realize that I walk so slowly,” Nick chuckled sheepishly. “How has your morning been?”