I'm sitting outside at a bus stop, awaiting my bus. I missed the last one, you see, because I chose to walk friends, both old and new, to their cars and to soak up more of the city's evening air before heading home.
I love Saturday nights.
Spent this one with a published novelist, and a few enthusiastic writers who are inspirations and reminders that I'm not alone in this madness. We were in The Mission, at the latest installment of Writers With Drinks. The show was fantasticc; it started out strong and each writer who took the stage was better than the last. A couple had me laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes before they were through.
The novelist, who will be returning to be a read in December, knew the host, Charlie, and got us invited out to grub with her crew afterwards at an excellent Fry place called Frijita's.
So I sit now, in the afterglow of good entertainment, good munchies, and good companionship, and the fact that I missed my bus isn't really relevant.