Inside his main room, bookcases, improvised and otherwise, stretch from floor to ceiling, crammed full of volume upon volume, covering every subject conceivable, not a tome with its spine still intact. There are piles of comics everywhere, pages of script lying on the floor, a computer shoved against the window, half-drunk mugs of tea and half-eaten bits of toast.

Isto explica porque eu não sou tão produtivo quanto gostaria: meu espaço de trabalho é muito mais organizado que o do mago, homem do saco e escritor Alan Moore.