In the middle of the night

Just like Balzac, here I am right after midnight, still writing away. Of course, Balzac had his own pot of coffee to keep him awake until dawn. I do not. I suppose I could, but it doesn’t sound appealing. Also, he was a much better writer than me.

The house is quiet, and only the cats and I are still up. What’s your excuse for being up so late?

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