If I wrote a book about my morning...
If I wrote a book about my morning the following exert would find it's way into the first chapter:
"...and as Quincy slowly inched backwards from the close talker, the close talker moved closer still. 'Could it be that he can read my mind and he is doing this on purpose?', thought Quincy. Heavens no. For that would mean that the advances are deliberate, and this particular adversary does not possess the mental dexterity to hatch a scheme as clever.
Quincy's attention to the matter being discussed wandered as one thought consumed his being: 'This will be a long, long day.'"
-An exert from my forthcoming [imaginary] novel, "The Longest Friday Ever"