A man sits at a computer. Sitting is all he does: he doesn't know how to begin.
He's supposed to be a writer, but at this precise moment in time the validity of this definition is, obviously, slightly questionable. Right now you might call him a sitter, or a smoker of cigarettes (unfortunate but nonetheless accurate) or even a tapper-of-his-foot-from-time-to-time. Not a writer.
"How is this meant to go?" he thinks. "I've seen how other people did it. It can't be that difficult, surely? It shouldn't be, really".
It's like coughing in the theatre, or taking the first shot after the break when playing pool. When it's done, it's done, and you can get on with things. He's overthinking the situation as usual. Best not to.
He begins to type:
"Welcome."
There.
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