Henry took a seat on his favorite couch, and took occasional swigs of whiskey while listening to Trevor go over the basics of the project being proposed by the cable network in question. He tried his best to pay attention, but there was a lot of details and he just wasn't in the mood to hear many of them that day. It was close to a half hour into the pitch, that Henry started to lose his patience, and want to skip to the end.

     "Trevor, this is getting annoying," Henry said, as he stood up and started to pace the room. "Just give me the skinny, what do they want and how much are they offering?"

     "Okay," Trevor said, sighing deeply, "You want the bare buns, I can dig that. The studio wants to have full creative control, because they don't want a repeat of the fights you had with directors and actors on the set."

     "I see," Henry said, as he continued to pace. "And how much are we talking here?"

     "Five million dollars," Trevor answered, "As well as a decent percent of the royalties that the show might incur."

     "If they want full control," Henry said, thinking about it. "Then I want ten."

     "Really?" Trevor said as he was a tad surprised by his response, "You don't seem to concerned about your story being ruined?"

     "It's not my favorite book," Henry confessed, "Odds are it could use some new life breathed into it. Tell them if the give me ten million plus royalties, they can do whatever the fuck they want and I will never visit the set... ever."

     "Are you sure about that?" Trevor asked.

     "Yeah, I am." Henry said, grinning back at him. "Let's see how bad these pricks want it."

     "You're not worried about scaring them away?" Trevor asked.

     "I'm not," Henry confirmed, "If they can't be bothered to accept or offer a counter, then they don't deserve to put my work on their channel."

     "So you're open to counters?" Trevor repeated.

     "I am," Henry said, "But don't let them off easy, squeeze as much as you can out of them. If they manage to counter with anything higher than seven, then accept it."

     "Alright, that seems fair." Trevor said, standing up. "I'll pass along your counter."

     "Do that," Henry said, as he walked over to the door and opened it. "No offense, dude... but considering the circumstances, I don't want to see you for the rest of the day." 

     "I get it, and I am sorry to hear about Lou." Trevor said as he walked to the door. "I wasn't fond of her but I am sorry to hear of her passing. So what its worth, my condolences."

     "Thanks," Henry said, as he knew that sincere. "Just one more thing."

     "Hit me," Trevor said, eager to help out.

     "Lou's service is possibly this weekend," Henry explained, "I need you to look up the details and book hotels if its really out of our way."

     "Our way?" Trevor repeated.

     "Oh yes, our way." Henry said, "You're coming with me."

     "I am?" Trevor asked.

     "I'm afraid so," Henry confirmed, "I need at least one friendly face there to help out in case things get sticky."

     "What about my wife?" Trevor asked, "We might have plans!"

     "Tell her why, and she'll understand." Henry said, confident she would. "Hell, if she wants to come along and pay her respects, she can come too."

     "Never thought of that," Trevor admitted, "She did kinda know Lou a bit too."

     "Check with her and find out," Henry ordered, "And then figure out what expenses we need to cover to make this happen. I need you there, even if I have to pay for it. Alright?"

     "Alright," Trevor said, "I'll look into it."

     Trevor walked out the door, and Henry slammed it to prevent the man from trying to get any other words in before they were finished. He quickly locked the door and strolled back into the living room to grab his whiskey bottle, which was over half finished when he grabbed it. Henry looked at the bottle and had thought about buying more but good judgement got the best of him at the moment. He strolled into the kitchen and considering looking for something to have for lunch, but he was feeling rather lazy and didn't want to make anything. Finally Henry decided that it was best to leave the house and get a little air. His flow was already gone, but sometimes hanging out at his favorite pub helped bring it back. Not often, but sometimes.

     Henry took a nice hot shower, which sobered him up a bit from the drinking he had already done. He was tempted to shave, but decided to keep the four day stub as he wasn't in the mood to impress anyone or act like he was trying to make company. Henry decided to take an uber to his favorite pub, not only because he was still too intoxicated to drive, but he definitely was going to be for the trip back. No point taking out the car when he shouldn't be using it at all that day. It took only a short time to get to the pub, and have something strong to take down.

     "Henry!" the barkeep called out when he noticed the writer strolling in.

     "Hey, Jeffrey." Henry said as he walked up to the bar and took a stool for himself.

     "What will it be?" Jeffrey asked, surprise to see him so early.

     "I'll have an old fashioned," Henry replied, "No ice."

     "Lost the flow already?" Jeffrey asked, surprised to hear his order.

     "Fraid so, bud." Henry said, taking the drink and helping himself to a nice swig. "I'm gonna have to try the old school method made famous by Ernest."

     "Hemingway?" Jeffrey guessed.

     "Yeah, that bloke." Henry confirmed, "Someone told me he once said write drunk and edit sober. I'm going to take that to hear and so some shit faced writing tonight."

     "That's too bad," A soft voice called out from behind.

     Jeffrey and Henry but turned around to see an angelic looking blonde haired lady stroll up to the bar and sit down beside Henry.

     "I was hoping you'd buy me a drink," she said, extending a hand to shake. "I'm Tricia."

     "This is Henry," Jeffrey said, "He's a writer."

     "Is he now?" Tricia replied, mildly intrigued. "Maybe I should but the drink for you."

     "Ouch," Jeffrey said, also laughing at the burn.

     "That was cruel," Henry said, also chuckling a bit, "But it was still funny. Inaccurate, but funny."

     "So, you're actually a writer that does well for himself?" Tricia said, poking him on. "I've never seen one out in the wild."

     "We're a finicky bunch," Henry admitted, "Rather hard to tame."

     It was at the moment that Henry's phone began to buzz, so he pulled the cell out of his pocket and looked at it. The buzzing was a text message from is agent:

The studio accepted your counter for ten million.

    Henry looked at it and smiled.

     "Good news?" Tricia asked as she noticed the change in mood.

     "You could say that," Henry said, looking back at her. "And it was badly needed as the news I got earlier today was pretty bad. But now I will buy you that drink..."