Meditation on lunch’s last minutes. 

Ready for wine conversation, the wines showing me something new, something I didn’t before know.  Life and all the question marks, the antithetical of predictability.  Vivacity in the Newness of it all.  Conversations forming from nothing before seen.  Walking down the stairs and planning nothing in head, only relishing in the eagerness of new interactions galactically valuable intersections of characters.

New stories, new words, something to later write.  That’s what this is for me, not some push toward meeting some silly sales goal.  The goal, for a writer, is a book, and another, and learning from your own paginations.