The number zero denotes an absolute, and the universe consists of many absolutes, of which zero is but one of them. The term zero can only be used to describe an absence of some other measurable thing.

You could illustrate this further by saying that this sentence has zero quantity of the letter 'w', or that I have zero tolerance to idiots, but that would not be classed as true as most people I know seem to think I am one.

Happy days indeed kittens.

I have smeared the edges

of my skin to help blend in

with the blur of people

rushing by

I don't want to be recognized

It's funny though,

you say you've

memorized my face

but I walk past you

in a crowd of strangers

and you don't follow

my gaze.

Yes. Prose. I do rather feel comfortable surrounded by like minded people; writers both professional and amateur (is there really any such thing as an amateur writer given that a by product of our efforts is the satisfaction and joy in hearing from others who like our stuff?). I was on another site when I heard the Prose whisper, so I thought I would give it a go.

I was unsure at first, I couldn't get a productive vibe from the site and everything was rather hush hush in that nobody spoke much.

But I stuck with and am so glad I did. Here I find myself some months later amid a bubbling cauldron of ideas, feedback and challenges that hurl ideas at me from all sides. I know that as a writer I am growing and learning. My brain is feeding upon this little screen and I crave the constant drip feed of stimulus which is now constant.

It is Prose, it is quite superb.

I cannot think of a better way to read and write, on my iPhone at least.

Here you go you fortunate people, a story to suit every conceivable taste. Simply selected the sections you require to form your very own tale of action/adventure/passion/horror. Anything you like.

Dan stood up, he could hear in the distance that his wife/dog/car/pet gerbil/antique writing desk/typewriter was approaching fast.

He turned, and pulling out his pen/stylus/iPad/toothpaste/wallet/phone/dick thumbed for the information he needed.

"Dammit" he exclaimed, "There's not enough time."

He raced down the stairs/hill/slope/cellar until at last he reached his car/horse/wardrobe/skateboard/front porch/skis and immediately sped off, his breath coming in great gasps.

"I've got to make it." He thought as images of his wife Alice/Jane/Emily/Rufus flashed before his eyes.

Gaining speed, he began to see that fortune was smiling upon him. He stopped and opened the bedroom door/cat flap/safe/biscuit barrel/envelope. It was good. He breathed a sigh of relief and took a drink from the water bottle/bourbon/horse trough/ and remembered those last words that echoed through his mind. Life was good, he was going to make it.

Relieved, he sat down to rest/sleep/write on Prose/take a dump/get drunk. She'd be here soon, then this whole nightmare will be over.

He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep/Seattle/bed/eat/Neptune.

He awoke with a start/sigh/shudder/heart attack/Oreo and immediately sensed something wasn't right. His car/trousers/Macedonian Bullfrog/piano accordion/ was missing, "Goddammit" he thought, and saw with horror/affection/trepidation/disbelief that it was too late. He had run out of options.

With a heavy sigh/rucksack/bowling ball/heart/piano stool he realised the game was up.

It was over. He stood there in the fading light as resigned as he'd ever been. It was time to pay the band their dues/tips/ and face the music/mirror/window/reception desk/inevitable conclusion.

His phone rang, it was her. What could he say that would ease the pain? "Darling." he whispered/shouted/screamed/uttered/whimpered/hinted. "I love you, I tried to deny it/paint it/eat it/drive it/sell it, but it's no use. I can't deny it any longer, will you marry me?"

The line went dead. It really was the end. He fell to his knees/pudding/scaffolding/elbows and wept.

With my girlfriend, best friend, and I are on 80 west heading towards the coast. Passing through the west part of the valley was interesting, finding out that Vacaville has an Assault Rifle Emporium of sorts, seeing a Buffalo Wild Wings next to the freeway, and driving deeper and deeper into the fog. We love adventure, and this is the first time in a decade since I've been to the Boardwalk and the California coast. It's gonna be a great day.