in the bedroom
"What the hell is Cthulhu?" I say, stopping the music and trying to sound out the strange looking word.
"It's the creature from Lovecraft's famous short story The Call of Cthulhu, of course," I hear a voice answer. A balding middle aged man with a thick Santa style beard watches me examine the book.
Saul, I fucking told you. This ruins the writing today. Taking a deep breath, I flip through the pages and read the description on the back cover. Am I missing something? I don't get it.
"No, I can tell you it's not. On good authority from the author."
Crossing my arms and putting the book against my chest, I wait for an explanation.
He points at the author's name. "That's me."
Great. A fucking writer. This won't end well for him. "Why does Lovecraft sound familiar to me?"
"He's kind of a big deal. One of the most famous horror writers ever. Lived in Providence, father sent to a mental institution, this guy is a legend."
"Providence?" Oh, the plot thickens. Nodding towards George, I hold the book out for him to take. "Buy this for me. Thanks."
George takes the book to the counter and pays the friendly owner lady working the register. The writer watches me and I remove the headphones from my ears.
"This book better be good. I don't like wasting my time with fucking indie authors. Every time I do the book turns out to be garbage."
"It's not garbage, I promise."
I smile at him and allow George to take my arm. "Bet your life on it?"
to be continued