The blank page stares at me, no, it's more of a glare. A sort of "you dare write on me" type of glare, a glare I certainly do not want to argue with.
Suddenly I hear a call from downstairs, it's one of the kitchen cupboards of all things! Apparently this poor muddled little thing desperately needs my help. I must go to it's aid.
I leave the blank page to it's hard man, touch me if you dare, attitude and go to the rescue of my poor dishevelled cupboard which, unlike that horrible page is very grateful of my attention and so, according to my cupboard, will all his neighbouring cupboards. I may be here a while.
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