How does a retired guy get to take creative writing classes for fun as a makeover of sorts for the compromise of an earlier life of being responsible enough to make a living?

 

And what should I write about?

 

Back at the ranch when hardly anyone was watching... a thief in the night took clean air and pure light. Wouldn't care to leave the land like a blight if it made his pockets feel right. Gleefully waltz away, leaving others to pay.

 

And I'm just tryin' to say, it ain’t right.