It was a bit nerve-wracking when it looked like he was nearing the end of his manifesto, but made it home with my heart intact.

If you're going to be a writer, write your heart out while you still can.

I don't know how much longer I can.

Because at the coffee joint, at the table behind me, there's this guy.

He's scribbling in very tight, cramped letters on sheets of typing paper. If I had to guess, I would say he's composing what can only be called a manifesto. He's already filled quite a few sheets of typing paper.

And he is laughing.

Is it a chortle, or is it a giggle? It's really one of those laughs that says I'M LAUGHING BECAUSE I AM CRAZY AND I AM WRITING MY MANIFESTO.

I believe he may be writing his heart out.

Right before he bites through my chest and starts chewing on mine.