Evening-guy, ever the poet, loves my work. "Brilliant!" he cries. "Perfect!" he says. And I sleep with a smile on my face.
In comes morning-guy. Morning-guy is a pragmatist. "Hot garbage," he grumbles. "Imposter," he declares.
Sigh.
Evening-guy, ever the poet, loves my work. "Brilliant!" he cries. "Perfect!" he says. And I sleep with a smile on my face.
In comes morning-guy. Morning-guy is a pragmatist. "Hot garbage," he grumbles. "Imposter," he declares.
Sigh.