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"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing" – Benjamin Franklin

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Sam came into his east hill apartment around 12:30am. He always felt terrible not staying the night at charlottes. But alas he was allergic to her cats. He threw his Iron and Wine record on and tossed his hand stitched brief case to the side. He was just as over today as Charolette was. Life on Wall Street wasn’t always what it was cracked up to be. It took a lot of work. Before he became a broker, Sam was a world traveling chef. He used to travel the world writing blogs about the different cultures and foods he encountered. What with that not making the rent and with his parents split he needed to do something else. He needed to grow up so to speak. Get a REAL job. Stop “playing” around as everyone called it. Charlotte always called it “art” and said he should always follow his dreams. Thats one of the things he loved so much about her. There was so much naivety to her. Like she had seen so much hurt and pain of the world that instead of it making her bitter and hostile it made her more of a lover. Sam however was not a lover by any means. Nor was he cold. He just didn’t show much emotion. Which wasn’t to say he didn’t have any.

Miles away across town Charlotte lay in her bed wishing she didn’t have cats listening to her own created station on pandora. It sucked sleeping alone in such a big big city. “I can’t wait to get back to the country”, Charlotte sighed out loud to any of her cats that would listen. If she did in fact lose her job she will have lost everything. She basically lived pay check to pay check anyway so this was going to hit hard. She knew would have to move back home. It was her only option. But how. How would this even be feasible? She didn’t even have money for a truck. Before she knew it she was dozing off at her laptop while trying to finish one more article to try and save her job. Would it work? She hoped it would. She loved her job. She was good at it. It was the first actual writing job she had ever gotten and she didn’t want to lose it now. There wasn’t many people at the “Daily Harold” that actually LIKED Charolette. She was sort of on the different side. She used the “L” word which scared people like they were cock roaches running from fire. All this weighed on Charlotte as she laid in bed staring up at the ceiling. She couldn’t even find a man who could stand to stay the night with her.

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