The purest treasure mortal times afford is spotless reputation.
It was a cold, rainy night. I was sitting at my desk sipping my third bourbon when I heard a knock on the door.
A man, a strange man dressed in what I assumed was a costume, slipped in and sat down.
"I've got a problem, a big problem," he said before I could offer a drink or find a clean glass to pour it in. "Do you recognize me?"
"Not really. Are you related to Wayne Newton?"
"Of course not. I'm William Shakespeare."
"I should have guessed. Did I offer you a drink?"
"I suppose you've seen the new movie, Anonymous?”
"No, I avoid the movies. Can't stand the smell of stale popcorn."
"Too bad. Well, in this movie, I appear as a fraud, an impostor, a shill for some rich aristocrat who purportedly wrote all my plays and sonnets. Can you believe that? Some people actually believe this movie is true."
"Actually, I read an article that said a woman from Italy who married an English big-shot actually wrote all your stuff."