The former writer Gerald Sanpatri was just gifted a writing journal by his wife. As the unemployed writer stands with other at Labor Corner, hoping to get a chance for a day job, this little scene occurs.

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“What are you doing there in the notebook?” asked the man.

“I have no idea,” confirmed Gerald, keeping his eyes fixed on the empty page. “So much potential here.”

“Ha. Give me a break. Half of these guys are over sixty and the others are addicts. Nothing but the dregs of society here. But that’s what Antoine produces,” continued the man.

“What? No, no, I mean here. So much potential here,” said Gerald, pointing at the blank page.

The man goose-necked over to look inside the notebook. “There’s nothing there.”

“Precisely. Isn’t it beautiful? A blank page can go wherever it wants. It can break the laws of physics. It can stand a hundred feet tall and crush its enemies under its feet. It can sail the seas and stop blood-thirsty, ruthless pirates. It can storm the gates and restore the earth to its natural order. You can go anywhere with a blank page.”

The man looked at him strangely and started walking away. “A potential mental case. That’s what I see.”

Gerald lay the open page firmly over his left palm. “Don’t think too much. Just write. Just write. You’ve been standing mindlessly in the bank for ten years. Your brain is well rested. Just write.” He placed the lead tip on the second line and began.