|That's me in the corner.|
Instead, I am sitting in the window of Appletree Books. Trying to write.
It's a little warm, but at least the front door, which is right next to me, because I am sitting in the front window, is open. I like the sound of the end-of-day-traffic. I also like to watch the people walking by. They smile. Why not? It's seventy-five degrees out and we are in the World Series and there's this guy, typing in the window of the bookstore. What's not to smile about?
Maybe that Donald Trump has a strong chance of winning the election one week from today. Try not to think about that. There is writing to be done.
I have also signed up to write in the window at Appletree Books in three weeks, when there may very possibly be snow on the ground. Not only within the bounds of possibility, that is a thing that happens here.
|Sunset over Cedar Road|
What must they think? My God, what is that? That is a writer, my boy! Perhaps he is working on a novel, or if nothing so grand or important, we may assume he is perhaps writing a play. He looks far too approachable to be a poet.
Except I'm not. I am writing a blog. Ye gods, avert your eyes, my son. No one wants to see that shit.
I like this chair, it keeps my posture straight.
Okay, enough. There's a play to be considered.
Many thanks to the folks at Appletree for setting this up. See you on Tuesday, November 22.