Todd was about to throw open every window he could find when he stopped. Next to the typewriter, stacked with an almost inhuman neatness, was a thick pile of paper, the size of a large cornflake packet. Todd approached it gingerly, as though it were going to (teeth) bite him. He picked up the first sheet.

ALL MY COLORS
by Todd Milstead

Todd flicked through the sheets of paper. They were impeccably typed, neatly laid out and the product of a more orderly mind than his. After a moment’s thought, he flipped the stack over and pulled out the last page. It said simply:

The End

Todd was about to go back and read the last part of the story when something (teeth) made him stop. He put the paper back in the right order, found a clean and empty cardboard box—the kind with thick sides and even thicker staples to hold it together—to store it in, and put the box and manuscript on a high shelf, just for safety. Then he threw open every window he could find.

“Now what?” Todd said out loud and his inner voice answered, a smoke’d be nice. Todd realized as the words came into his mind that he hadn’t had tobacco since he’d started writing the book. He’d had no cravings either, which was weird because normally after ten minutes without his pipe or a cigarette, Todd would be jonesing for a tobacco hit. But he was feeling the itch again, the irritation which meant it was time to light up.

Todd found a pouch of tobacco and his pipe and was looking for some matches or a lighter when the phone rang again. He was tempted to let the answerphone take it, just for old times’ sake, but that was too much a reminder of how he’d been spending the last few—the last few days or weeks, he had no idea, but the last few anyway. So Todd lifted the receiver and said:

“Milstead residence, Todd Milstead speaking.”

“Milstead? This is Pete Fenton.”

Todd’s mind had been so far away from reality lately that for a moment he had no idea who Pete Fenton might be. Then it came to him. The lawyer.

“Mr. Fenton, good to hear from you—”

“I doubt that. Milstead, before we go on, I want you to speak to Alice.”

“Alice?”

“My secretary. You used profanities down the line to her last time you called here. I would like you to apologize to her, personally.”

Jeez, lighten up, Todd thought. In truth, he had no memory of speaking to Alice, let alone swearing at her, but what the fuck, if this born-again douche with a broom-handle up his rear end was so pussy-whipped as to let his secretary push him around, what business was that of Todd’s? So he waited while Alice huffed onto the line and he said: