–Hi sir, how is your day going?
–Good! Well, kind of. Maybe it isn't. I'm not really sure what I'm doing. I am sitting here trying to do some writing, and I am just dimly aware of the cosmic insignificance of the things I am writing about. I am not really helping anyone, I'm just writing it with the unsaid expectation that you should be interested in what I'm writing about because I'm a really interesting guy and I write really well. As if I have some pre-destined right to be heard. It's the ultimate form of narcissism and I indulge it in every day. And at the end of that day, I might have written the most beautiful, hilarious, tear-inducing, bittersweet poem, but it's just words on a page, and some people might read it, maybe even like it, and none of it will matter for me if I slip over as I’m getting out of the bath.
–Ok sure, but for now what would you like to drink?