I’d been sent. As if I was a person in need of being sent someplace other than where I was. Where I was was with a woman I thought needed me. What she said was come home with me. She only said it once. It didn’t bear repeating, or she couldn’t bear to repeat it, it comes to much the same. I thought maybe I was a writer. She thought I was a person in need of advice. She said go see this guy Jack read at the bookstore. “He’s a writer” she said, in a tone that implied maybe I wasn’t.

The bookstore is jam-packed. Just the fact that there is a bookstore is surprising, that it’s filled with people adds to my surprise, and my irritation. One more example of excited people gathered to see someone who is not me. Like I need more examples. There are far more women than men. I figure this Jack guy is one of those handsome writers. F*ing handsome writer I mutter to myself, although no one has yet appeared. Many in the crowd seem to know each other. There is that contagious whisper of anticipation. Hate that.

A lady in a floral blouse, black pants, and masculine looking shoes arrives at the podium. First thing that pops into my head: if she is going to wear shoes like that, why not dispense with the flowery top? Where’s the consistency? I’m angry with everyone. You can be pissed off at a literary reading in exactly the same way you can be pissed off in stop and go traffic. I keep making discoveries like this. It is not up-lifting. The woman starts gabbing about the wonders of this Jack guy, telling a story of being at a workshop of his, where he forbade her to leave until she put down on paper her real and true feelings. Feelings about what, she doesn’t go into, and for that small mercy I am grateful. The whole thing sounds sexual to me, like he’s the literary dungeon-master and she’s the enslaved wench, clutching her moleskin. That might just be my weird perspective. I’d like to be free of weird perspectives but I’m not. She goes on to explain how the restriction was in force for twenty four hours, and…


Also, should you find it in your heart, or your head, or really anyplace that gives rise to commentry, verbal entanglement, critical gestures, or plain old coffee shop quips, I would deeply appreciate you LEAVING A COMMENT. Somewhere, anywhere, on this ol’ blog of mine.