Flash Fiction: Dancing with The Muse

TANNILLE: I could run around naked and I still have no story. 

MUSE: A secret camera in the pot plant?

TANNILLE: Why would anyone dance nude in this waiting room?

MUSE: Are you going to make me say it?

TANNILLE: Oh Pretty Woman?

MUSE: Doubt the clientele is that high. Look at the old book.

TANNILLE: Seniors? 

MUSE: There is water for the blue pills.

TANNILLE: I hope that’s bleach…

MUSE: Look who’s doing the murdering this week!

TANNILLE: Actually, I consider it suicide, doing us both a favour.

MUSE: The story: exotic dancer puts on a web show and drinks bleach?

TANNILLE: Go back to sleep, Muse.