On a boulevard of broken dreams

I collect the last bit of paper. I switch off the lights and shut the windows. I check to see if the alarm system is in place. I am on my way out when I spot something I had missed. A manuscript about an inch thick. It lies tucked behind a chair outside one of the agents' office. I take it out. It was folded and roughly treated! I smoothed out the creases on the paper. A book named "The apothecary's lament".
I put it in my duffel bag and carry it home. I finish my dinner and sit down with the book and a cup of cocoa. It is raining outside and the light is dim. I prefer it this way. I start with the dedication; it was to the author's mother. I am always happy whenever I read witty and touching dedications such as this. I start to read...
I finish the last page and keep it all in in order. I pause for a second to think of the effort that went in to write this book. Sleepless nights, the fevered typing of the word processor, the hundreds of caffeine shots. The stench of sweat and the brightness of light. The missed social events and the parties and beers. Then comes the search for an agent, countless calls, countless appointments and the blunt rejections. The broken dreams...
It takes a lot of guts to write our thoughts down without bothering about the criticism and the soul is bare for everyone to see and talk. I salute you!
I climb up the stairs to the room and place the manuscript in A rack among similar friends..the room of unpublished magnum opus..I shut the door softly.