I’m in an all-night donut shop on Clement street. Writing. You see, I just left our regularly scheduled writer’s meeting where we we discussed the final section of a very entertaining witchcraft novel, and like all such meetings, it left me needing to write.
So I ended up here.
There’s a homeless woman a couple seats away from me, and an odor I cannot identify and don’t want to. It’s not fried dough.
The homeless woman just turned to me and said: “That’s a Apple computer?” Uh, no. It’s a Thinkpad. If you’ve ever seen a Thinkpad, or an Apple computer for that matter, you’ll understand the quirkiness of the question.
So I’m writing…or editing, rather, or a little of both. It’s cold in here tonight, as the place is small and the homeless woman keeps going in and out, letting the outside in. So I won’t stay much longer. Just long enough to scratch this particular itch.