Jesus H Christ on a popsickle stick! There's a fucking desk in that room. A DESK! How in hell am I supposed to compose at a desk??? I need a leather couch, seven feet long. I need the books taken the hell out of here and replaced with every variety of whisky available. This place was a saloon for God's sake, there's gotta be a stash somewhere in that hell hole you call a Bar. At least you have the dictaphone... would be NICE if it HAD A TAPE!!! Oh fuck this, I can't work this way. Get this place in order and I'll be back first crack of the afternoon to make up, errrrr... write a typically outstanding story.