Louis is a failing novelist, which wouldn’t be the case if he’d stop messing with tense and obscuring narrative. He used to be a theatre reviewer, and he’d still be doing that if a red box hadn’t been invented that writes perfect reviews. His girlfriend would still be around if he’d stopped taking her to the theatre, and he’d have a home if he hadn’t worn out his welcome at his parent’s investment property.

One thing Louis does have is grit; he ain’t gonna let no thing or no body bring him down. But sometimes art happens, and when it does… two words… pens and eyes. Pens. Eyes.

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