I’m beginning to think that my writing is suffering because I don’t go out much. The thing is, I hate going out. Every time my toes cross the threshold of my front door, I immediately regret it. Yet somehow, my shoes are still on and the key is in the lock and it turns with a sharp and definitive click and I’m off to some reluctant outing.
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
I’m beginning to think that my writing is suffering because I don’t go out much. The thing is, I hate going out. Every time my toes cross the threshold of my front door, I immediately regret it. Yet somehow, my shoes are still on and the key is in the lock and it turns with a sharp and definitive click and I’m off to some reluctant outing.