Thud… the back of my head banged up against the concrete post in my apartment. I was willing to literally bang my head up, give myself a bit of a concussion, accelerate the prospects of dementia, taste my own blood, and perhaps fracture my skull. Anything, just to shake off a really horrible case of writer’s block. I was trying my best to write a short story for some event I want to go to, but I was running out of ideas. After a few more thuds, I realized I was getting a bit dizzy, and all this self-inflicted pain will get me nowhere near my story.
Not that I’m a good writer or anything, but I need that story. Somehow, I had to find a story somewhere. I had to find an idea somewhere. Since you can’t find that in an apartment, and you can’t make ideas out of banging your head on the wall, you might as well head on over somewhere to look for one. So I crawled out of bed, freshened up, and went off to somewhere – anywhere – to find my story. I boarded a bus, paid my fare, and found myself a few minutes later at Ayala Avenue.