What can YOU say in six sentences?
The blue and white check shirted man returned again last night.
We sat opposite each other, this time at an outside, weathered wooden, sturdy-slatted table. The sun was on my back and I had before me a pad of foolscap wide-lined and margined paper, alongside which was an untidy pile of a dozen or so already-written sheets. The writing was mine, almost: I’d used a fine-line smoothly-functioning black felt tip pen and he congratulated me on “writing” but I was unsure whether he…