It may be useful for you remember the name Benjamin Parker, for in two years, you will find him to be a New York Times bestselling author and a Pulitzer Prize Winner. Well, he hopes that at the very least. You should really pity this unwilling book critic; he expected something big to happen after starting at the L.A. Times – a jumpstart in his career. Perhaps you could blame it on the unappealing pseudonym, Willis Huber, or his recent heartbreaking event – or maybe because it’s only been three weeks since he has entered that cigar smoky office. But it’s been much more than three years since Ben has wanted to get a book published under his own name. And that hasn’t happened yet. Nowhere near.
Like any other morning, at the hour of six Benjamin got up from bed, jumped in the shower, changed his clothes and had a toast with coffee, popped his hat on his head and walked out the door with a brown briefcase in hand.
Normally, our friend Ben would take bus 447 to the brass colored building, up to the fifteenth floor and to a messy desk with a battered typewriter. Today is different, and Ben can’t help but be slightly relieved of not having to go to the office first thing in the morning. But taking bus 98 to sort out the legal formalities to officially divorce his wife – that isn’t all that much better.