“Surely becoming a writer is a mistake.”

he murmurs to himself sat on a park bench staring at his empty journal with a almost empty bottle of vodka by his side. He has a cigarette in between his lips and is so close of giving up with this entire thing

“Think. Think- Ah!”

he starts writing but the idea goes out his head as he groans taking a puff of his cigarette then another sip of his vodka slouching on the park bench with the cig now in between his fingers, smoke spiralling into the air