Sometimes I stare out over the bay at the lights of houses on the other side, and looking at those little window-squares of brightness I wonder: How many of those houses have got murder mysteries happening inside of them?
It was late, and I was writing. My latest story didn't seem to be going anywhere- as usual, my beginning was strong, but I'd petered out early. Just what was I going to have happen next? Just then, a man came in through the door with a gun in his hand.
The guys and I were all sitting around just chatting when I invited them over to watch the game. There were nods and agreements all around, except Hank, who put up his palms, smiled, and said, "Sorry, can't."
I asked why, and he said, "I answered a meme, remember?"
"Oh right." said Tony. "The wizard." There were murmurs of recognition and remembrance from the others.
"Wait, the what?" I asked.
They looked at me. "Oh, right." said Tony. "You don't use facebook. You wouldn't have heard about this one."