Large festive balls hang threateningly over my table.
"Write about us," they whisper, "Write about Bob's Big Boy and the fascinating array of waiters, waitresses, regulars and novices. You know you want to."
I refer to my notebook, hunch over my keyboard and try to focus on the scene I'm working on. I know what I want to accomplish in it, it's just a manner of concentrating.
It's a party scene. Hey, maybe it's a Christmas party. Maybe there are gigantic decorations hanging threateningly over the heads of the revelers.
Maybe our eccentric antagonist has decorated his home like a fifties diner, complete with happy statues!
Naw.
Scratch that.
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