And they talk. And play poker, and drink, while you’re trying to sleep. And just won’t leave you alone, until you get up, red-eyed and sleepy, to write a typo-packed note on your phone, to acknowledge them.
Then, the next day, while you wonder ‘what the hell does this say’, looking at your notes, you go to the shower, and they come with. You do your thing, while they sit around like in a steam room, discussing you and your book.
And then, you finally sit down to make a chapter or a dialogue out of them.
But they’re still in the shower. And they say ‘We’re not coming now. We’ll be over some time tonight.’
And my victory.