[There's a young woman walking down the street, oblivious to the weather, furiously scribbling in a notebook. After a few moments she pauses, makes a face, and tears the page out.]
No, no, that will not work at all...
[She shakes her head and starts to write again. She doesn't seem to notice anything else around her.]
[ooc: YES, this is late.
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What ain't workin' at all?
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My muse seems to have escaped me, sir.
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Tough break. You a poet or somethin'?
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