Chapter Twelve

[thebestseller]

I've got a new job tending bar at the Death Match. Bars are a good place to hear stories, and you know how much I love hearing stories.

[A pause and some pen taps before he adds:]

I'm a pretty good listener, too. If anyone needs that.

Comments

[thebestseller]

Sort of... to both. I own a bar, but I only tend casually- at poker games with my friends and the like. Figured that since I can't exactly resume my career here, I might as well learn something useful.

[dog_eat_dog]

[She eyes him over the edge of her glass. Nobody gets to play coy with her.]

And that career is...?

[thebestseller]

Writer. Of mystery novels, to be specific. I could write here, of course- plenty of interesting stories- but there's no publishers, no printing press... makes it hard to distribute stuff.

[dog_eat_dog]

That makes it sound like you write for money and fame alone.

[thebestseller]

... well, you do have a point. I don't write just for either of those things, but I do like being able to have an audience to entertain and not keep stuff to myself, you know?

[He thoughtfully rests his chin on his hand.]

It's not impossible to have an audience even without a means to mass produce, though...

[dog_eat_dog]

Tell stories on the journal, then. Anything to break up the monotony of complaints.