i'm somewhat disappointed that we didn't get sucked into the black hole...does that make me weird?
anyways i've made it to the final selection of the short story competition. i have to turn up at the bookshop in case i win, then they say, i have to read my story to the people. i will surprise everyone with my cultivated accent and interesting elocution, the literary girls will all want to fuck me and someone from a glossy magazine will take my photograph. i will talk to them about my life and tell them stories of travels and tales of adventure, they will be scared and amused and sucked into my persona. they will wine and dine me, introduce me to duchesses from duchland and a sexy countess from norway, women will inspire me to write more romantic novels and in my epoch years i will be invited to writers festivals interstate, meet paul auster and smoke joints with my sexy agent, who wears thigh high leather boots. i will take a year out, reside in paris, or maybe berlin, or lima. i will make friends with a waitress, a stripper or a monkey. we will have a small adventure and i will profess undying love, we will marry (unless it is the monkey) and i will write stories and articles for international journals and magazines. eventually i will be shot by a man in a black suit, he will ask forgiveness and bow down before he pulls the trigger. i will die instantly but not before he will be forgiven. i will be 96.