The Writers

From my room, I hear the hammer of weights from the gym. In the summer, they work out with the doors open. The sound echoes across all the gardens and the waste ground separating me from them. The routines are always the same. They have the same regularity as my fingers find on this keyboard. They exercise as I exercise. Big fingers hitting iron keys. These guys are as local as me but they grunt when I sniff. They swear when I try my hardest to find just the right word. More often than not, the words they find are much better than mine. In their way, they are also writers. I can tell because they also growl when they exercise.