Inspiration peeked over the Scribes shoulder, it had been sat there for some time, playing tricks and teasing the Scribes mind. On the bar lay the Scribes “Little Red Book”, smaller than his “Little Blue Book” but still full of the moments that his mind had fallen upon like a pack of hungry dogs.
But now the pencil hovered over the page, the Scribes thumb flicking it so that it bounced in his hand as he waited for the next little tit-bit to be thrown to him.
Inspiration looked at the words on the page, so far the Scribes mind had been well fed, but he had missed a few morsals that were now lost to the Seagulls of time who were always eagre to snatch away any tasty crumbs that they may find.
The Scribes thumb stopped flicking the pencil and the tip returned to the page in a flurry of scribbling recording the latest spark of an idea.
Inspiration chuckled to itself, that tiny flash of light it had caused had drawn the Scribes eyes to the bottles at the back of the bar, where he had caught the reflection of a customer sat in the window of the bar, long dark flowing hair silhouetted by the falling snow outside, just enough inspiration to oil the cogs of creativity, sending them into a mad spin before…….they came to a grinding halt as the moment petered out, the Scribes thumb returned to flicking the pencil as he sought the next spark of inspiration.

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