Whenever I find myself in a situation where I can’t think of something to write, I buy a dozen glazed donuts. I take them down to the bodega on the corner, and I feed them to the cat there. He is a sad cat with nothing else to eat. After that, I walk around the block. As I go, I use my phone to take close up pictures of red cars. By then it’s usually time to go to work, so I go.
At work, people ask me if I’m ok. People are very concerned about me at work. I tell them that I am considering starting a small business. I tell them that I am ok.
By the time I leave work, I have remembered what I forget every morning, which is that I have nothing to add to the compendium of human narcissism that we call literature.
I go to see the cat at the bodega to make sure he is well. He is never well.
This week’s prompt: writer’s block