A friend or foe, depending how you take it, said my daily utterances, as they put it, have become a tad dull.
Excuse me, while I slip my head in the oven.
They miss my monthly Carlyle pieces, and I do too, but since I’m barely drinking these days, tea on the rocks just hasn’t the same oomph.
I write what flares in front of me, whatever that may be.
For instance, I’m presently in Starbucks, with the sweetest, little Latino couple sitting across from me, quietly holding hands.
I could pen pages on this, the old-fashioned innocence, simplicity and peaceful, gentle affection they clearly share, all from a sly glance.
Hemingway said, write what you know.
What I know, is what’s put in front of me. So there.