You were a simple secundary tudent. You used to have a hard time with literature, a complicated subject that confused you every time you had it.

Therefore, your parents decided to sign you up for private classes with a professional literature teacher, his name was Harlan Ellison, and from what was known, he was a very famous SCI-FI writer, but he also wasn't a very good person

After several procedures, your first day of private classes finally arrived. One Friday at 10 AM, you were standing in front of what was supposed to be his house. You knocked on the door and waited for someone to open the door, to which 2 minutes the door squeaked and you saw your private teacher. He wasn't taller than you, in fact, you were the same height. He was dressed in a simple wool sweatshirt and black jeans. You could see his dark circles and his hair slightly combed to one side, just as it was described it to you

"So? You're the kid that was coming here to have help with literature, aren't you?'"