'You were just trying to be clever,' said Gartland.
I was trying to be hip and cool, that's all.
'And none of the narratives made sense. At least when I edited your notes, they were still notes. Now the notes that you have edited are fucking crappy notes.'
He was my editor after all.
Whether I'd accept his ideas or not, I was still mulling over that.
'I like the idea of how you get lost around one block, for two hours, trying to locate your home.'
I liked the idea too until Google Maps started laughing at me.
I said I was going to fuck over Eric, the landlord of the granny flat.
'And I wasn't listening,' said Gartland, 'I was on the other end, resting on my spider web, waiting for the right distress signals before I sucked another loan out of you.'
So what was the note you composed?
'I'm the best writer in South East Asia, and you need me more than I need you.'
Almost worked, except it didn't.
Because I'm the best writer in South East Asia.
At this stage, we had a bit of a face-off.
