A little bit of literary monkey business.
I was out on the town last night, a rare treat funded by my beloved girlfriend, my beloved son, his beloved fiancee and four beloved friends. We crawled around six different watering holes, and in each one I found my old friend Willy was there, and each time we had a wee chat.
In the final pub come midnight I said to him, “Willy, are you stalking me?”
“Small world,” he said, “We’re bound to keep bumping into one another.”
“So what are you up to these days?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said flatly, “no job, no home, no woman, no direction.”
“You certainly get about though Willy,” I said.
“Aye,” he said, “I’ve no direction but I’m all over the place.”
“Ubiquitous,” I said.
“Don’t know about that but I do like to travel,” he said.
When we said our goodbyes and he had gone to God knows where, I returned to my beloved throng. “That man is everywhere,” they said.
“He is,” I said, “He’s an old friend with no direction who gets everywhere.”
“What’s his name?” my girlfriend asked.
“Willy Nilly,” I said.
I would like to help a homeless writer