' But how can it be' said the young man, looking nervously around. 'That there is only one writer in the whole world who seems to possess all the good ideas? And, you know, it's like that, sometimes, you dream about something really hard, you hone this idea to perfection, and just when you are about to put the pen to paper, you accidentally stumble upon your creation in his book. Or graphic novel. It is yours, you know it is, you have never told anyone about it and you are pretty damn sure you haven't read it nowhere, but here it is. In his work!. How can it even be possible?' His companion put a small piece of fish on her fork and lifted it to her mouth. She bit a morsel, chewed on it, and then shrugged. 'Oh, I thought you had it figured out for quite a time now, hon', she said. 'It's so simple. He really is Morpheus. So he knows all dreams of the humankind, even before they swim to the surface of counsciousness. He has this big web, like a giga...
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