“I see you’re working on it,” she said to me the next day, all smiles, on returning home from shopping for groceries, as my fingers hit the letters on the keyboard of my laptop.
“I have to,” I said, and went on typing.
Julie did not go to keep all she was carrying in her hands—two colorful polythene bags, fully filled. She walked straight to where I was doing my phony screenplay, and gave me a generous kiss on my lips, halting my fingers. The fact that I was really writing nothing of value was a very heavy load that weighed my conscience down, making my mouth not to welcome that of Julie, as much as it should. I was lucky she did not bother to ask why. It was not that she did not notice it, but I guessed she must have accepted she was the reason why, having come to distract my creative
