She: So what do you do?
Me: Um. I’m a writer.
She: I hate reading.
Me: I’m not sure the word ‘dude’ was used during the Civil War.
He: How would you know?
Me: So you have an agent looking at your book? That’s great! Did you send a synopsis?
He: A what?
She: I’m writing a post-modern cyberpunk romance between three people.
Me: Among three people. Between would be if there were only two people.
She: Asshole. Fuck you.
Me: You might consider joining a couple of writing groups. You could get your book critiqued.
She: Nah. I don’t want anyone to read it.
She: It’s the story of a woman’s love affair with a horse.
Me: You’re kidding.
Me: I write novels.
She: You mean, like fiction?
He: I’ve always wanted to write a book.
Me: Great idea; you should take a weekend off and do it!
He: I just might!
She: I have a great idea for a book! It’ll be a sure-fire bestseller. I’ll give you half the profit if you write it.
She: I started reading your book but I didn’t finish it.
Me: . . .
He: I own a book.
Me: Me too.