Liken me to a chicken on a chain, if you will.
A tempest in a leaky teacup.
A Mad Hatter sans chapeau.
Or just picture me as an author jarred and pickled in a house of
typewriters and you’ll have me.
*sighs, oh-so pitifully*
A writer without the
opportunity to write can be quite a
grotesque thing, wouldn’t you agree?
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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