Quiet and meditative ironing of khakis with Emma in her chair playing and making every cute distracting sound she can think of.

Then Jackie wakes, wants the usual cartoon dose, and I sip more coffee.  Look around the house, reminded this is a dad’s story before anything else.

Now at Starbucks, waiting on the mocha, before I write and write and write like I always do.  But where is it going?  What’s my next move?