“It seems the well has dried up,” said he, a melancholy tone in his voice.
“Well, I suppose it’s about time,” replied the distraught architect. “It’s been floundering progressively in the last few years.”
“Flounders are flat, indeed,” stated the man, desperately attempting to change the subject and cheer up his friend.
“Flat out truth, that,” the architect replied in a chipper tone. “Truly fascinating.”
“Truth be told, there seems to be no end to the number of astounding creatures who live in the sea.” The man hoped they could run with this tangent for a while, to no avail.
“I would like to see more of them. Perhaps they would inspire me anew and remove this accursed writers’ block.” It seemed the architect was rather enjoying focusing on his sad state of mind.
“Why would anyone want to block a writer from doing what he does best?” inquired the man, obviously misunderstanding the terminology his friend was using. “A tragedy, that.”
“The tragedy here is your uninformed brutality. EVERYONE knows that writers’ block refers to a dry spell in their creativity. Have you no appreciation for the finer things in life?” The architect is puzzled and a bit flustered at this point.
As if not hearing clearly what his friend said, the man addressed the architect quite pointedly, “I’ve never refined silver a day in my life. What are you talking about?”
With a puzzled look on his face, the architect replied, “No, not refining silver, but the finer things of life. Do you understand anything I am saying?”
“Of course I understand why the children are playing, silly.”
“Children? Clean out your ears, lad!”
“Beer makes you glad? Well, why didn’t you say so earlier? I’ll buy you a drink,” said the man as he began walking toward the local pub.
“NO, NOT BEER, EAR!! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING?!” The architect’s face began to turn red as his anger began brewing.
“No, my skin is not glistening. I’m wearing long sleeves!” The man continued on his way.
“WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?!”
Clueless, the man replied, “I stepped in a puddle of glue? I was wondering why my shoe felt sticky…”
“I NEVER MENTIONED GLUE!!”
“You want my pension too? I’m not sure if I can give you that.”
“THIS IS POINTLESS!! WHY AM I EVEN STILL TALKING TO YOU? I’M GOING HOME TO WRITE AN ARTICLE ON THE IMPORTANCE OF AURICULAR HYGIENE!!” The architect stormed off into the night and proceeded to write a novel.
The man simply smiled and took a swig of the golden beverage in the mug before him, then said, “So much for writers’ block.”