It was nothing like what I had imagined.
I found him rocking forward and backwards on his famous cane chair, a cigarette dangling between his parched lips. The ashtray on the table overflowed with snubbed butts.
There were sheets of paper, scrunched into balls, discarded all over the place. I opened one, and read.
It was not good.
The cabin stank of whiskey, vomit, and failure.
I started the interview, he slurred incoherent words. Then he started coming on to me.
I shot a look of disgust and pity towards him and left.
I shouldn’t have peeped behind the curtain.
Word Count: 100