Wednesday, September 27, 2006


I knew I wasn't going to write anything today when there were no tables available at Moonbean's. I waited and watched from the library steps, and when one did become available, smiling old men descended before I did. I might have to go into town tomorrow and write like a madman. It is among the most frustrating times to have a pen and a notebook and to be surrounded by life and movement and noise, and to have nothing to say, nothing to write, because you did not get the table you wanted. It is always as simple a problem as that. People think there are muses and grand ideas that come, but no, you just have to get the table before the old men do. The bench is worth nothing.

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the end of something.