“So when do we edit the beginning?” They were at a diner. By the conversation they’d had over the phone when he called her, she wasn’t sure he’d really left one for the past three days.
She smiled. Steve looked a little worn and haggard, but he clearly had been getting sleep. Whether it was at the table, in his car, or at home was anyone’s guess. But his clothes were different, and he didn’t smell.
There was a typewriter in front of him. One of those old style ones, the kind you can find on e-bay if you’re lucky. On one side was a stack of blank paper. On the other, a stack of paper almost the same size. The second stack had letters peering out from the other side, used paper filled with words.
“When you’re done,” she said.
“Why?”