One Page Novel

Here's a one page novel I wrote for my fiction writing class:

Searching for an Idea

=====Whatever well Quinn had always drawn ideas for stories from in his head had dried up. He’d been at his desk for months, his eyes absorbing the white light from the empty page on the computer for hours on end until he could barely see anymore. He read books of every genre he could stand, watched dozens of movies, talked with everyone he knew to try to think of ideas, but nothing would come.
=====One day Quinn went to the supermarket, and standing in the checkout line with his groceries for the week, he was struck by the man in front of him. He couldn’t say why, he was completely unexceptional: average height, brown hair, brown eyes, his heavy black jacket and jeans completely appropriate for the chilly weather, everything about him only remarkable in its utter normality. But whatever it was, something about him made Quinn decide to follow him after he left.
=====For weeks Quinn followed him all day, on the subway to where he worked—a drab office building (which Quinn looked up and discovered was a mail-order office supplies store)—back to his home, a two story row house just like every other one on its block. On weekdays he woke up at 8 o’clock so he could get to the corner by the man’s house just before 8:45, when he would leave for work, and on weekends he’d sit in his car by the man’s house, trying to catch a glimpse of him in the window, and following him whenever he’d leave for any reason. He couldn’t say why he was doing all of it, but something in the back of his head told him that if he kept it up, a story would come to him.
=====One Tuesday, Quinn stood on the corner watching the man’s house, sipping his coffee as he had every weekday for the last month. But the minutes kept slipping by. 8:45 passed, then 9, then 9:15, and still the man failed to emerge from the door in the center of Quinn’s vision. He had almost decided to give up and come back the next day, when at 9:30 he finally came out. Quinn followed him down the street, and was surprised when he walked passed the subway stop two blocks from his house, and kept stolling down the sidewalk. Quinn followed him for almost two hours as he kept walking, sometimes circling the same area several times in a row, sometimes walking in a straight line for almost a half an hour on end.
=====Finally, the man stopped in front of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, in a run-down and seemingly uninhabited part of the city. Quinn stopped a block or so behind him, watching as he looked both ways, and then entered the warehouse. The minute hand made several revolutions on Quinn’s watch as he waited for the man to exit the building, before he finally decided to follow him in.
=====Quinn slowly turned the doorknob, cringing slightly as he heard the slight creak of the door opening. The air was stale, every breath caking the insides of his lungs with a thin film of dust, and he could barely see in the dim light. He took a few tentative steps inwards, when he suddenly heard an unfathomably loud popping noise, and felt a burning stab in his chest. He looked down at his shirt, and could see the faint outline of a liquid spreading across his shirt in the dark. Then he looked up, and could see the silhouette of the man standing in a doorframe a few feet away, the outline of what appeared to be a gun in his hand. And as Quinn felt his legs giving way beneath him, and the misty haze of sleep creeping into his consciousness, all he could think was…finally, I have the idea for my novel.