Walked around square.  

Not many people out, but most of whom are all on the actual square.  Some pop-up restaurant extending from one of the ones nearby.  Asked if I could sit for a beer and they told me, reminding me, you need to have food with.  Declined.  Because of time and budget.

Actually ate the lunch I packed.  Can’t believe it.  Still have one more pb&j that I’ll pull if I get really ravenous.

Cars pass quickly.  And what about wine… why am I in it, why am I doing this.  To be around wine, on the square, for stories.  When I stand int he doorway, people talk with each other and I listen, and they most often mention where they’ve tasted, where they will taste, or ask the other what they feel like doing.  Free in the day. I’ve been chaining self with preoccupation and worry, about what I don’t know.  Wine tells me to turn around, go another direction, don’t care.

Bored with writing about my angst and perceptive constriction….  I write all over the world, about the wine yes but the people, the doorways, the streets, what people are saying if I can understand.

LoFi beats, this room, just me…. What wine tonight.  Thinking… probably one of the Desmond bottles.  Another Pinot, or that Cab from north.  Is it from Napa?  Can’t remember.  Not letting self sink into any boredom.  Write, where you are and what you’re doing Mike.  Sitting on stool at low end of bar.  My new desk, my new office..