“Tell me a story.”

“Would you like to hear the world’s shortest horror story?”

“…(giggles)…okay.”

“The last man on the planet heard a knock at the door.”

“…(more giggles)…okay, tell me another one. A longer one.”

“I think you’re very beautiful.”

“That’s not a story.”

“No? Describe to me the definition of a story again?”

“A story has a beginning, middle, and end. A story has characters and events. Me being beautiful is nothing close to a story.”

“You don’t think so?”

“…(shakes head)…Absolutely not.”

“In that case…I don’t know any good stories then.”

“I thought you’re supposed to be some super smart writer. You have to know stories.”

“I don’t write stories that have a beginning, middle, and end. I write about moments…Immortal moments, that’s what I write about.”

“Couldn’t you call this a moment?”

“I could.”

“Maybe you should write about this then.”

“I will.”

“But no ending? How does anyone ever get to finish anything you write?”

“They’re not supposed to.”

“That just sounds frustrating.”

“I’m infatuated with you.”

“No you’re not, you just like it when pretty women lie on top of you.”

“This is also true.”

“I’m worried for you Shaun. Who’s going to read your never-ending story? Who’s going to read your moments?”

“In the end, none of that matters. What matters is that the moments happened. That this moment in time, really did happen…You are the reward I get for being me.”

