Alex sat at a large mahogany desk. He was wearing reading glasses (mostly for effect) and a cardigan.
He was writing.
The title page read: THE CALCULATED GAME: My Life in Three Parts.
"Chapter One," Alex muttered. "The Rain."
He wrote about the mud. The cold. The tackle that ended Danein Blake.
Then he paused.
"Should I mention the floating blue screen?" he wondered. "People might think I am crazy. Or a superhero."
"Superhero!" a voice shouted from the doorway.
Mark walked in. He was wearing a beret and holding a pipe (it was unlit and made of chocolate).
"I AM THE EDITOR!" Mark announced. "I AM HERE TO FIX YOUR GRAMMAR AND ADD EXPLOSIONS!"
"Mark, this is an autobiography, not an action movie," Alex sighed.
"Autobiographies are boring!" Mark argued, sitting on the edge of the desk. "You need spice! Add a dragon! Or a car chase! Did you write about the time I outran a bus?"
"You didn't outran a bus, Mark. You ran alongside it while it was stuck in traffic."
