(http://i209.photobucket.com/albums/bb145/syberfang/duh.jpg)<br/><strong>Name: Michael T. Corbin<br/>Current Race: Human<br/>Location: Murphey's Tavern<br/>Time: Day 1, evening<br/>Remaining Funds: $490.00 <br/>Tagged: May Murphey</strong><br/><br/>"Television." He said answering the question coming from the old lady who gave him the creeps earlier, about what is causing kids to act up. When Michael was a child Television wasn't a big deal. VHS's were to expensive, not to mention the VHS player itself. Besides Cable wasn't what it was today. No, Michael found his comfort in that of literature. It's what inspired him to be a writer. He dreamed of the day that a boy his age would be sitting in a bed with a flashlight in his mouth, just to find out what happened in the next chapter. That dream however was taken from him, with the invention of the DVD player. He couldn't even begin to talk about his disdain for television. Eventually him and writers like him would cease to exist. All because he didn't write about dragons, or Vampires. His writing age just kept getting older and older."I'm sorry if i like reality." He found himself saying out loud. He looked up at her apologizing for speaking out loud. It just frustrated him that he was on T.V. interviews almost monthly, and yet none of the children knew he was.<br/><br/>His depression didn't get any better when he discovered the only person who had recognized him here was the creepy old lady. He looked at her cockeyed, his recent images flooding back. "Whats in the soup?" He found himself saying almost integrating her. He took another drink and slapped himself mentally again. It was a shame how many times he had to do that. "I'm sorry, thank you for that earlier. I'll have the special, and as for why I'm here. My vehicle broke down just a couple miles down the road, and I'm waiting for the shop. Lovely place you have hear. The sculpture s amazing. Do you mind if i sketch few pieces?" He said wearing his smile.<br/>