He had books on military history, pirates, a couple of shelves of philosophy and some titles in French that she did not even begin to try to translate. ‘Eclectic, very eclectic,’ she said to herself as the book on erotic massage caught her attention. ‘Monique, enough. I can be there for dinner. I should have it fixed before you finish the soufflé. Bon. A bientôt. See you this evening.’ He snapped the phone closed and pulled a leather book towards him. From where she was standing, Samantha saw that it was a calendar. He scribbled a little note in it and closed it, putting it back on top of the pile. ‘Are you feeling a little better, Samantha?’ he asked standing. ‘Can I offer you something to drink?’ He walked over the closet that held the washing machine, pulled it open, and then opened the door on the dryer as well before opening the washing machine and scooping the contents out and into the dryer in a well practiced motion. He paused and pulled her shirt out of the pile and held it. It wasn’t until I entered college that I actually sat down and watched television, something frowned on by my parents because they thought that this medium would be too distracting for me. In this they were right, and my first semester at college was spent catching up on what I had missed earlier in life. It was this interest in television that led me to begin moonlighting as an author. My first literary endeavors were in the college newspaper where, using a variety of pseudonyms to avoid any unwanted pressure from the victims, I wrote satirical articles that prodded several sacred cows including the pretensions of the professors, in particular the English professors who thought that if you couldn’t understand a writer it must be art. At University, I, when not studying or attending lectures, was inclined to further my education by observing other students. This involved sitting in a darkened corner of a student bar watching and making mental notes of the students as they progressed.
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