No conventional greetings today?

Why have me rewrite something you published?

Be careful where you take this.

Why didn't you tell me some magazine ran it?

Why the hell should it matter?

You should have told me.

What did you do with it?

I turned it in. I turned it in. I had to show them something.

You promised me anything we wrote in here would stay in here.

I know. I know. I know! I just thought...

Shut up. What are they telling you?

I go on probation unless I write a letter saying I was wrong.

Then write the letter.

Look, I already told you I'm not reading or writing anything.

If you got him, he gets you. Write the letter.

And then, you'd let him do that? Is this supposed to be some kind of another lesson? I'm getting tired of all of these lessons. Whenever every time I come here. And the title of your essay is right at the top of my paper. What's the lesson in that?

I'm not the one who turned it in.

Then you talked all that trash when all you had to say was: "Jamal, keep this one in here because it already got printed in the New Yorker." That's all you had to say. Maybe I could use a little help.

No, that's not an option.

You don't even have to go anywhere.

I said, that's not an option.

I'm sorry, man. I'm getting used to people not helping out with me.

Oh, Christ. Not that self-pity father bullshit.

What did you say? Man, **** you, William! You wanna know what the real bullshit is? How about...you letting me taking it on this one 'cause you're too damn scared to head out that door and do something for somebody else. You're too damn scared, man! That's the only damn reason.

You don't know a goddamn thing about reasons. There are no reasons! Reasons why some of us live and why some of us don't! Well, fortunately for you, you have decades to figure that out.

Yeah! And what's the reason in having a file cabinet full of writing and keeping the shit locked so nobody can ever read it, huh? What is that, man? I'm done with this shit.