Car writer

Who can write when the heart is burdened? His head in his hands, he tried not to concentrate on his current situation. He listened to his stomach growling. No food. a constant reminder of the importance of writing these reviews. Last week his schedule had been crowded with shows - introducing all the latest lines of cars for this new year. He had been eating shrimp, roast beef, and numerous other varieties of appetizers. Free coffee and free soda. He could have had free wine but he didn’t drink. Now, a week later, he was back in his apartment. He still had to review all the brochures he had collected throughout the week. His growling stomach shifted his focus off his work. He had no free food left. He wished he had brought home a chunk of brie, or a bunch of grapes. Other guests had taken food to their room. He should have just had his food travel a little bit further- to his apartment.

He had only been hired to write about two cars- one Audi and one Mercedes. He usually would not write about two competitors but the Mercedes was a convertible, so in his mind, they were not in the same market.

His apartment felt sparse. Even for a bachelor, it seemed empty of decor. Tonight he missed the well-decorated rooms of his childhood. His two sisters' artwork which always hung on the refrigerator. Somehow it added personality. His apartment had a little bit of personality. He had made all the wooden furniture including the table which he was now leaning on. He was in a rut;

It's simple, all he had to do was, start with the name of the car, stateit’s line, and the year of the model. The price range, what the manufacturer says the advantages of the car are. A quick jaunt on the internet to check out the research. Simple he told himself and still he sat motionless resting his head upon his arm upon his table. The table if only writing could be like creating a table. He liked cars. He understood the technical talk concerning them and knew how to explain the facts in no technical terms. He had gone to school for this stuff, but it felt like a job, Yes he knew most young men would love to be surrounded by these metal beauties

Looking at the wood decorating his apartment. One or two of the six pieces looked creative and original. Now he wondered if he could start his own line, but he had not gone to business school so he was not quite sure. He would have to hire someone, and he was reminded by the growling in his stomach, he could not afford it.

He liked the convertible. When he was a teenager there was a model of Mercedes he had wanted. The dealer had told him that it was out of production. This model was not as much of a classic, as the light yellow convertible, he had wanted. He looked it up on his computer. The convertible was light yellow. He didn't usually review the colors, but the car in light yellow looked more classic than the flat black. Of course he could never have afforded the woman he had wanted to ride in it with him. It had been a sweet dream. Reality crept back in. He counted his money and ran out to the sub shop down the street. Italian subs, not brie or shrimp. It tasted good though and it was filling.

Sleep or work, a full stomach, he could have done either. Alexa told him the time. he lay back in bed, listening to FreeBird. Sometimes he wondered if being free was in fact what he wanted. The women at the shows would require so much upkeep. Some didn't even look real. But none of them gave him a second glance anyway. The girl he wanted to drive with in his yellow convertible would have more class than that,