Jonathan-Gray

A man sat quietly outside a cafe, gazing at the traffic of people heading to work, and various appointments. An empty cup on the table, reminiscent of the coffee it had just held, a blank paper next to the cup, and a pen in hand. Smoke flowed elegantly from the cigarette on his lips. His eyes fixed on the people, he tapped the pen in his hand gently. An urge to write, an urge to create, emanated from within his core. An urge so great it made him anxious. Yet something was amiss. Nothing seemed to take form, nothing made sense. He flipped through the notes in his head, all the plot lines, characters, places, things happening in the vast worl