The old man sat at his computer and wondered which form of twaddle he could produce today.
For reasons beyond him, his writing had generated an audience.
Most of his life had been a nonsense, so he was as the writing books told him, writing about what he knew.
He enjoyed throwing random words together; there was something cathartic in the process. It was he thought, a moment where he was in control when so much of his life had been under the direction of one other.
He put down ‘once upon a time’ and went from there.