Being the bestselling author, one is always under pressure to produce work of best quality, and one that will not disappoint the fans. Mr Davids wanted to retire. At 80 years old, he felt he had contributed abundantly towards writing books that not only entertained his fans, but also provided answers for those who felt lost and hopeless. What gives him sleepless nights is that his last book didn’t do as he had expected. The turnout disappointed him, and he felt more like a failure. “Oh dear!” His wife, Julia exclaimed as she watched him sitting in front of the blank computer screen with a gloomy look on his face. “Let’s have our afternoon tea, am sure it will activate your creative juices dear.” She said lovingly as she came closer and placed her hand on his shoulder. “If I could just have an opening line, I know everything would fall into place afterwards.” He said getting up from the chair. “It will come to you, just be patient.” Julia said as they made their way to the living room. They sat and enjoyed their coffee. “My head is filled with words, but somehow, I can’t put them together.” Mr Davids said as he picked up a biscuit, examined it, and placed it back. “Stop stressing so much, you are going to give yourself ulcers. I know it will come to you; it is what you were born to do. I remember back in the day when you used to sit in your office on that old chair. You would close the doors and type the whole day and night in that old typewriter. You wrote the best books that became the highlight of your writing career.” Reminiscing about the olden days brightened the atmosphere and Mr Davids broke into a smile. “You are right my dear.” He said as he reached for the biscuit that he had previously placed back, and took a bite. There had been many improvements made to the house, but he kept his old office the same. It was a reminder of where everything began. It had a sentimental value, and saw it as his little museum. Someday his children’s children will tell their children a story of how their great-grandfather began his writing career there. He only hoped that they would be proud of it as much as he is. After their tea, he took his walking cane and made his way to his old office. Yes, it was still the same. That made his heart leap with joy. He walked in slowly, feeling himself becoming young again. The metal in the old leather chair was becoming rusty. The old little table and the wall had paint peeling off. It was decaying; however, he felt it was a good kind of decay. He laughed a little, feeling that he and his office were aging at the same pace. He sat on the chair, and looked at his typewriter. In a table opposite, the type write there was a stack of papers. He took one and placed it carefully. He said out loud, “this is where it all began, and this is where it all ends.” He smiled proudly as he felt ideas flowing in his mind, and his hands working as fast as his physical ability would allow him. July came to check on him, she smiled as she watched his hands tap dancing on the typewriter. Yes, her darling Albert Davids had his writing groove back.