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Bob Duvet Investigates What Inspires A Man? Or, Music Is In The Ear Of The Beholder.

“What inspires a man?” Bob wondered, as he drove the nail through the plywood he had placed horizontally across his front door. “There, that oughta do it.” He thought, pleased with himself. Inspiration should always begin with, “keeping the wolves at bay” and he had done a piss poor job of that lately. Worse still the wolves he heard howling at his door were more like domesticated Dingos, hardly wolves at all anymore. Just some trace elements left in a DNA code that had been bred out by the constant encroachment of humanity. “AH! Humane society, indeed!” he spoke as one might having reached an epiphany, then realizing there was no one there to share it with. He moved away from the doorway to survey his work, admire the construction and ponder the placement of the next wooden slab. On the carpet below his feet sat an empty glass that still breathed the faint remnants of charcoal and peet. Raising a hammer and methodically orienting a nail he penetrated the wood emitting a ricochet clap. The faded and slightly rusted coffee tin holding the nails rattled in time with the blow. “I’m making music again” a smile creeping across its authors face. SLAP! This one a bit more piercing, with less reverb, but just as tuneful, again the nails lent their shimmer. The hall echoed with the clang of hardened steel softening against the wood tuned with paint. Some inspirations require a little blunt force, Bob thought as he once again raised the hammer next to his ear. The crack of the hammerhead greeting the galvanized surface of the nailhead shook through the corridor. As the soundwaves faded into silence, Bob took a step back. He viewed the asymmetrical wood planks crisscrossing the entryway into his apartment, turned and began walking down the hall into the kitchen. No longer inspired he, he sat down in his chair, laced his fingers together and stared blankly at his computer screen. That wonderful song still playing in his ears.

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