I was sitting in my room, typing away on my laptop. I had a deadline to meet, and I needed to finish my short story by tonight. I had a vague idea of what I wanted to write, something about a lonely writer who finds inspiration in an unexpected place.

I looked out of my window, hoping to see something interesting. I saw a man standing on the sidewalk, holding a sign that said “I will write a short story for you”. He was surrounded by curious people, some of whom gave him money and asked him to write something for them. He had a notebook and a pen, and he wrote quickly and handed the pages to his customers.

I was intrigued by this scene. I wondered what kind of stories the man was writing, and what motivated him to do this. I decided to go down and talk to him. I grabbed my coat and my wallet, and left my room.

I approached the man and said hello. The man smiled and asked me if I wanted a story. I said yes, and gave him five dollars. The man asked me what kind of story I wanted. I said I wanted a story about a man sitting in his room writing a short story while watching a short story being written about a short story outside of his window.

The man looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded. He wrote something on his notebook, tore the page and handed it to me. I thanked him and walked away.

I opened the page and read the story. It was about me. It described everything I had done that day, from waking up to leaving my room. It ended with me reading the story written by the man on the sidewalk.

I was amazed by the accuracy and detail of the story. I wondered how the man knew so much about me. I looked back at the man, but he was gone. There was no sign of him or his notebook.

I felt a chill run down my spine. I ran back to my room, hoping to find some explanation. I opened my laptop and looked at my screen. There was a new document open, with a title that read “A short story about a short story about a short story”. It was blank.

<chatGPT is scary AF