Fortyfive

Some day past I liked your stuff, when it was fun and full of laughs, we used to dig your quirks of grammar, and love your casual spelling stammer, but last week this forever changed. I heard a story from a mate, who said his mother knew a guy and as he was walking down the high street and thought he saw someone like you and that you did behave uncouth, when requested by a shop assistant, whether you would purchase freely any items he was selling. He said the guy who ran the shop, was struggling hard to move his stock, but you just stood and browsed like at a library shelf and paid no attention to his financial health, so he worried, face full of panic and asked politely if you’d finished, but you answered in disdain that you would take your time and made it plain, that you would only buy a book, when ready, happy and fancy took, but that if you chose or not, you would sit and flick through all his goods. Now tell me, as I ask politely, is this behaviour ever helpful? And from a man who plays with words to treat a business so absurd, when all he wanted from your pocket, was some coins or for you to stop it, and in the end you hurt the most, as now your novel I’ll turn to toast. But now please do you understand, I judge you a dishonest man, for what I heard some bloke said you did or someone whose face did fit, an act of which I did not like and hope you struggle with your life. And finally, as my conclusion, I choose to think from all this fooling, that you and all your author kind, are all thieves from each others minds and only hope to make a buck, from selling me what you have got, yet never spend a penny where, I take the coins that pay your fair.

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