"It's a joke", Billobi said and threw the paper on the table. Thomas Althorp picked it up and started to read.
"I kind of like it", he said. "It's obviously not true, but it's entertaining."
"I'm a joke", Billobi continued.
"No, you're not. You're a good writer, even though I don't understand everything. And besides, it's just a job."
They sat in the kitchen of Billobi's newly acquired house in Badgerbrough. It was a small place with an attic, not long from his parents, decorated sparsely: a bed, a table with crude chairs, and a really comfortable chair sent all the way from his cousin Hamphred.
"Don't think about it, Bill", Thomas said while skimming the leaflet. "You still got all your stories tucked away in the attic, someday you'll find a use for it. Hey!"
"Angela Burdett! She's still breathing?"
"You mean the candy store owner? Yes, last time I checked she was still alive."
"Oh, man... She's having a sale, we should go. Like when we're young, remember? Skipping grammar magic-class just to nag her for free candy? You, me and Tristan. As soon as I moved to Horsehead I threw that stupid grammar book as far as I could. I bet you still have it somewhere though, mister All-Writings-Should-Be-Saved."
"Absolutely not", Billobi said and shook his head.
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