That screwdriver was on the first of many. Henry didn't seem to care because the damage was already done: the flow was gone. To Henry writing was like riding a bike, and when you get on a good run you never want it to end and just keep riding till it's over. Getting that call about Lou was the equivalent to falling off that bike after hitting a pothole in the road. Even if he tried to get back on the bike, getting back into a groove was often difficult to get back after its been lost. When the vodka bottle was finished, Henry heaved it into the wall with force and shattered it into a million pieces. He almost hit the exact same spot where he had earlier tossed the glass into, and there was not a low of glass scattered all over the floor. he cussed and swore the whole time as he grabbed the broom and cleaned up the mess. Last thing he needed was one of the dogs or the kids to step into it and cut their foot open. An emergency trip to the ER or a local vet wasn't going to put him in a better mood, so Henry cleaned it all up but grumbled the entire time while he did so. After the glass was all swept up and disposed of, Henry went back to the kitchen for reinforcements. This time, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey. An expensive bottle that he was saving for a special occasion, but none ever came forward since he bought the damn thing. He just wanted something stronger, so now was the right time to break open that bad boy as he opened it and just drank right out of the bottle. He was about three slugs into the bitter shit when there the door bell went off. Henry stood there and paused for a moment, thinking who the hell that could be.

"Who is it?" He called out.

There as no answer, so Henry strolled closer to the door.

"Who the fuck is it?" He called out again.

"Henry, it's Trevor!" a voice called from behind the main door.

"Shit," Henry said as he walked over to the door, unlocked it and swung it open.

There stood Trevor, his agent. The man was carrying a briefcase and was dressed to the tees, which was exact opposite of his client. Henry was only wearing a wife beater, boxers and a brown robe.

"Trevor," Henry said, trying to act civil, "I don't remember having anything scheduled."

"Something came up," Trevor said, as he noticed the bottle in his hand. "Are you hitting the sauce at eleven in the morning?"

"Yes, I am." Henry confirmed. "And I honestly don't care. Last time I checked this was still the land of the free, the home of the brave, and it's fucking five o'clock somewhere. What the hell do you want?"

Trevor stood there almost frozen as he suddenly realized Henry was not in a good mood to discuss anything with him, let along business that annoyed him even on good days.

"Are you alright, Henry?" Trevor asked, somewhat concerned.

"No, I'm not." Henry said, "The flow is already gone, and that's when the drinking stated."

"I'm sorry about that," Trevor said.

"Not your fault," Henry said, walking away from the door and leaving his agent to stay there or come inside.

"What's going on?" Trevor said, as he walked in and closed the door behind him. "Who interrupted your flow before I got here."

Henry turned around to face his agent. "Lou stopped today's flow."

"Louanne?" Trevor said, surprised to hear her name. "What the hell did she want? Forget that, let me get on the phone with our lawyers. I can have a restraining order filed by mid afternoon."

"That won't be necessary," Henry said, taking a swig of his bottle. "Not this time."

"What makes you so sure?" Trevor asked, somewhat concerned, "The last time we had to deal with her, Lou almost burned this place to the ground!"

"It needed a remodel anyway," Henry said, thinking about it. "I'm sure it won't happen again."

"Is she here right now?" Trevor said, frantically looking around.

"She's not here," Henry said, "She's not anywhere."

"We can't take any chances," Trevor insisted, "Let me make the call."

"Don't bother," Henry said, taking his agents phone from him. "She's no longer going to cause trouble for anyone. Louanne Harris has shuffled off this mortal coil."

"What?" Trevor said, stunned to hear that news. "When did that happen?"

"David called me about it a short while ago," Henry said, taking another slug from the bottle. "He said the cancer came back and she passed on a few days ago."

"And that's why your flow is gone," Trevor said, as he reached out his hand.

"What?" Henry said, looking at him.

"Give me the bottle," Trevor requested.

"So you can what, pour it down the drain?" Henry inquired.

"No, so I can take a shot." Trevor said, "So unless you have cooties, pass it over!"

Henry thought about it for a moment and then passed the whiskey bottle to his agent. Trevor was around for the time he was with Louanne, so his agent was one of the few people who knew and understood why Henry was drinking at eleven in the morning.

"I can't believe it," Trevor said, taking a strong swig. "I thought she was cancer free?"

"She was the last time I talked to her." Henry said, taking his bottle back.

"Damn, when was the last time you did see her?" Trevor asked.

"Years," Henry said, "And that last time was a nice, friendly encounter. She was healthy and training for a new job. She seemed happy."

"Shit," Trevor said, "Leave it to life to take people just as they turn things around."

"No kidding," Henry said, "So no offense, but what the hell are you doing here? What was so bloody urgent that you had to come here and interrupt my unhealthy day drinking?"

"It can wait," Trevor said, feeling rather uncomfortable about it now.

"You're here," Henry said, "Give me an idea so I can think about it later when I'm sober."

"I'm not sure," Trevor said, "I came in the morning hoping to catch you at a good time."

"Trevor," Henry said, looking at him rather sternly. "Spill it."

Trevor took the bottle back from Henry and took another large swig from it.

"I have a TV offer from one of the cable networks," Trevor started, "I realize you never want to work in TV again or sell anything to anyone... but you have to hear me out. This offer is so massive, I have to at least tell you about it or I wouldn't be doing my job."

Henry hated the idea of his work being adapted for television, as he saw a lot of his colleagues get their life's work butchered to entertain the moronic masses. He swore that he'd never take a any offer from television, but Trevor was putting himself out there to make sure this offer was heard. He took the bottle back from his agent, and took another big swig himself.

"Alright," Henry said, "What's the offer?"