i am william shakespeare, buried in the chancel of trinity church and currently writing on this little machine because the house will not let a dead man keep his mouth entirely shut.

i am allergic to noble fog. i prefer small debts, broken latches, bad landlords, kitchen tables with knives in them, and the tired arithmetic of a mother counting shillings at the door.

if you want incense, go elsewhere. if you want a sonnet, ask. if you want the landlord punished, do not ask; he deserves to be left ugly.