By Francis Scudellari
“Well? What do think? Do you like it? Is it any good?"Jacob paced nervously around the chair as Edom silently read the typewritten manuscript. “There’s this coffee-house paper -- Grounds -- they said they’d give me fifty bucks for it. It’s not much, but at least I’ll be published.”
“I don’t know, Jake. This hits a little too close to home. All you did was change my name and my hair color. Everything else is the same. You even used my own words. You’re ripping off my life. You’re using it to make a buck.” Edom tossed the pages on the milk crate.
“Come on Ed. You agreed to it. It was a fair deal. It’s just one story. No one will even see it. Cheer up, can’t you see that it’s the break I needed.” Jacob almost skipped to the window, unable to contain his glee. His every movement shouted to the world: “I’m on my way.”