Donny paces his apartment kitchen twelve times then his hallway twelve and another set for the empty living room. Every morning, then he crosses over to the kitchen and prepares breakfast except for Tuesdays like these because I come over. You can tell plenty of a person by what they keep around. Donny lives on a fourth floor apartment his editor arranged for him and goes out for groceries once a fortnight and his floor has nothing but books and papers. He has a television that moves itself between the empty living room and his quarters, an old beat up thing from twenty years ago with four holes: one for cable and then audio video and he hardly uses the first. The news is a sad place enough for ideas. Donny is a writer.