“Did you read my blog today?”
The question made Vaclav shudder. He knew the question was coming eventually, but it didn’t help him prepare an answer.
“No,” he said. He felt like a criminal awaiting judgment.
“You didn’t? That’s okay. You can read it later when you get home,” said Ismene. “Just remember to comment.”
Vaclav’s mind raced. He wanted to network. Networking’s important. At least that’s what reads everywhere. But he’s a writer. Writers write and readers read. Then again, good writers also read great writers. That’s how to become great. But Ismene? Her writing is schlock. Sappy, romantic stuff about the feeling of butterflies in your stomach. If he wanted that feeling he’d eat bad shrimp.
At that moment Vaclav noticed the silence. He saw a desperate longing in Ismene’s eyes. How long had he been daydreaming?
“What’s it about?” he…
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