Fy's notebook

There was a hesitation in her step that I immediately fell in love with. Not that she wasn't beautiful to begin with, but I've never liked those people that yell confidence with every perfect pore. I don't believe them; I believe the only truth is uncertainty. My wife will be that woman who pairs her ignorance against my experience, and therefore makes us fit.
But what am I writing about? This should be a book about art, a real masterpiece with plot line and characters who commit murder and fuck close friends and move off the farm because their sister's friend stole their weed and the whole town found out or at least it should have some flying machines.
I'm going to go take a shower.