Michael had opinions

Michael had opinions. Lots of them.

Take for instance the massive mahogany desk just moved into his dad’s office. Standing on tiptoes, his nose just resting on the desk’s edge, he eyed the smooth expanse of it. Yes, it was over the top and far too formal for someone who wrote children’s books. If he had been consulted, Michael could have told you that a novelist should sit at an antique desk that had belonged to writers from previous generations, and was crisscrossed with etchings. But this awful thing with its massive black leather swivel chair? It was all very wrong. His dad should have known better.

Marching off to lunch, his index fingers pressed together against pursed lips, Michael decided he must make his thoughts known.

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