Jack knew he would have to go in anonymous, it would take some serious preparation, he’d have to shed the comforts of home life, leave behind his wife and the boy. Trade them in for a couple of hundred lined pages. He always wrote freehand primarily, then struggled the tens of thousands of words onto his computer once back in the confines of home. Jack longed to use a typewriter although he simply made too many errors. Yes the couple of hundred lined pages and a fast pen, the kind that scrolled as instant as he thought. He liked the kind that were clear so he could watch the black ink run through. He kept them all in his top drawer of the nightstand like dead soldiers. That’s where all the good stuff was, his porn magazines, pictures of his travels, pictures of jack when he was young and attractive.
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