So I'm sitting at my laptop, chatting on MSN and mulling over a couple of story ideas, when I suddenly realise I can't see properly out of the left lens of my spectacles. I take them off to find that a thumbprint has spontaneously appeared on the glass. It's not my thumbprint as I'm not in the habit of smearing grease all over my glasses, and I've been on my own all day, so it's not like it belongs to anyone else. Not anyone that I can see, at any rate.This is why I write - for all those "Why?" and "How?" moments. How did a thumbprint suddenly erupt on my glasses? Whose is it? Why did they put it there? Also how did they put it there? The orientation was such that their hand must have been at a very peculiar angle indeed. It may even prove to become the vague concept that kickstarts a vignette or short story at some point in the future, but I wanted to share it for now as being the kind of incident that reminds me why I write.
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