The man sat down and thought of all the stories he could tell. Then he thought again and crossed out the words ‘the man’. That was not right.
He. He’d put ‘he’ instead. He sat down (again) and thought of all the stories he could tell. But but but. But if he wrote ‘he’, people would think it was about him. About the man. How about ‘she’?
She sat down and thought of all the stories she could tell. She was a normal person, unremarkable; perhaps for this she had never been described. Her stories though were many; too many.
She sat down (again) and thought of just one story, one she knew well, one she knew forever. To tell it though would be difficult, she (and he) both thought.
They sat down together and had no need for stories. They were their own story, the beginning clear and cloudy and the future curving softly grey before them.