At

the car place.  Or tire place more specifically.  And I won’t fill this day’s 3rd page (or actually, technically, yesterday’s..).  After this, running, then campus, then writing and writing and structuring and finishing this goddamn novel!  I’m a novelist, right?  So where the hell’s the book?

Sipping some cheap coffee in a little styrofoam cup.  Not bad actually, quite tasty with a quiet rile of oak and spice, if I’m not overanalyzing.  And why doesn’t this laptop red-underline ‘overanalyzing’ but does to ‘overthinking’?  Technology always aggravating and inconsistent.  What can I do to this day to make it epic, or extraordinary, mammoth in how it’s paginated?  Think music, of course.. jazz, and how beautifully momentary it is.