I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms. I looked out the window where the daylight gave way to orange hue in the east. I saw the sun but my thoughts were inward. I wanted to talk to him about the stories I’ve been writing. This isn’t something I’ve talked to him about before. I don’t know, it just felt strange like it was out of bounds. He wasn’t the biggest talker so I couldn’t read him well but he was accepting.
I leaned in and set my elbows on the table. “Hey Bob would you mind if I talk to you about a hobby of mine?”
“Sure.”
“I always wanted to write stories. You know.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Make my imagination come to life.”
He gripped his cup with both hands. Look at me as if what I were about to say was the most important thing in the world. I hesitated for a brief moment thinking how he made this feel like his most important thing ever, even though he’s told me before he’s not much of a reader.
“Over the years I’ve seen quite a few stories with vampires and witches but not much on werewolves. I think they’ve gotten short shrift.” I smiled a little, felt like such a goofy conversation.
“I’ve never been too much into that stuff. What’s the title?”
“Origin of a Werewolf. The title speaks for itself. It’s a short story.”
“Can you give me a copy. I would like to read it.”
“Funny you should ask. I have a small paperback in my pocket.” I reached for it and pulled the paperback from my coat pocket and slid it over Bob. “Here you go.”
Bob pulled the book closer and stared at the cover. “Nice cover. Did you do it.”
“Nah. I hired that out.”
“Thank you for sharing. I’ll have it read by next week.” He placed to the side of the table.
“Thanks.”
