And lo and behold an average story

I've sat and stared at this blank page for hours now, tapping my pen on the desk. Sometimes I wish I had a typewriter. Then I think and realize how difficult it would be to erase mistakes and maintain it in the first place. I should use my computer but I think hand-writing it just feels more natural. The ideas flow better.
I have a deadline to meet in two days and so far, I've written nothing. Currently I'm writing a short story for a contest for this local Noir fiction magazine. It's name doesn't really matter (besides I've forgotten it completely. I think it was about hats or something). What I need to write is, like, this short detective drama story thing. Not that it's extremely important, but the extra money wouldn't hurt.
Have you ever noticed that writer's block always comes at the most inconveinient time? I need some air. It's cold outside (December) so I need to wear a trenchcoat. Fitting, considering what I'm writing. I put on my coat and hat and sloth my way out of my small apartment. I've no real destination, except maybe 7-11, it's a walk to gather my thoughts. Eventually I come by an empty public park and sit on a bench. Exciting, no? I raise my head to look at the sky in a cliche-like and almost wistful manner. Maybe I should find something else to bide my time with. Just then, my cell phone started to ring! Hang on a sec...
"Hello?"
"Oh, hi. This is the editor to The Bowler magazine."
"Alright, watcha need?" (He should have called it "The Fedora")
"The deadline for the story was due today. We've already selected a winner."
"Ah. Well, alright then."
"We can send you a copy if you want to read it."
"Naw, dude. It's cool. Maybe I can write for you again?"
"Heh, maybe. I'll keep in touch."
"Cool. Bye."

I hung up and shut my phone, in a dramatic way of course, and placed it in my pocket.
Well, I guess I was worried for nothing. I did feel sort of out of it today anyway. Oh well. But you know, I may have an idea for a story.


-The Trilling Adventures of a Bored Writer. By Connor Favero.
Expect more short fiction from me within the week.
Toodles,
Cornbread