“Not really, I’ve been in a funk lately,” she sadly replied.“Nothing I write has been any good, it’s all garbage, I don’t even know if I h...ve what it takes to be a halfway decent writer,” she continued to sniffle as she wiped her eyes and placed the laptop on a wooden tray table.“Don’t say that, you’ve inspired me to write stories, and helped me along the way. Fi, you’re my hero,” I tried to comfort her.“Heh, you’re just saying that,” she sniffled.“Well, that depends, is it working?” I asked. God, it would be nice to get in a convertible, and leave her tiredness and troubles behind! To see something besides dirty dishes, complaining customers and a manless life. "Melvin, you know, I wish I had your life, when all I had to worry about was a ride in a convertible."The world disappeared for a second, and when it came back into view, Carol found herself seated - staring at - HERSELF. A Carol that was staring unbelievingly at her. She knew what had happened. She was Melvin Goodall! And. More

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