One time he had quit his job in order to write full-time. That was the most miserable. For a week he wrote a few paragraphs a day. All of them deemed meaningless garbage by evening's time.
By the second week he became a full-time travel agent. For himself of course. The excuse was the he needed inspiration. So he would go to
Italy
. Live life. Experience reality. And then he would be ready to write.
He called his friend Frank. Who's name wasn't actually Frank, and was actually Godot.
"Godot. Let's go to Palermo."
"No. I can't. I'm broke."
"I'll pay."
"For everything?"
"Yeah."
"Flights and food and booking--"
"Yeah everything. You won't have to pay a dime."
"Okay. When are we going?"
"Within a week. I can't stand being here anymore."
