I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Chapter One

Warm. It felt warm. Must be past dawn by a few hours. With his sailing days far behind him, he had become accustomed to sleeping until late in the morning. He could hear Beatriz shuffling about in the kitchen. She would come in soon to make him get out of bed. It was surprising how much he had come to rely on her, though it had happened so gradually. His knees ached just a bit as he rose and put his legs over the edge of the narrow bed, his feet on the tile floor. The little grey dog was still curled up beside his pillow, with his black nose sticking out from the sheets. Rubbing his head, he staggered to the chair and took up his robe from the wooden back. In the mirror, he saw his hair standing up in clumps at strange looking angles. Humph !  Time for a drink.