It's Okay - I've Got Things To Write
I'm a thief. I know this because I hate carrying things around, and I've had half a pen in my back pocket since last night. I remember being at the bar and getting a good story idea. I asked the bartender if I could borrow a pen and paper. The pen was fine. Great, in fact. Easy flow. Flexible. Soft rubber grip. The paper was awful: a tiny curled piece of receipt roll with a waxy surface that pen ink never sticks to.
I scribbled feverishly to get it to go, but it only worked for a few words, and only on specific parts of the counter. I had to find a stool at a different part of the counter. Twice. That's when the bartender started giving me looks. Probably figured I was scratching the place up. So I pretended I was doing a wax rubbing of a toonie. The toonie he was no longer getting as a tip. I threw back my pint and left.
The pen hadn't worked any better on the wooden bench at the bus stop. I chucked the paper and started playing with the pen, drumming to the techno music blasting from the bar. Snapped the darn thing in two. No point in returning it now.
Just as well, really: I've got things to write, and I'm holding the nib half of a brand new pen. The one I'll add to the rest of my bar pen collection.