But earlier, while I still had energy, a dropping-by relative allowed me to escape for two hours just as the sun was starting to drop behind the tenements. Computerless, I took a notebook and a pen--and an experimental novel by Mary Robison which I wasn't going to read, but for some reason wanted to have with me--and sat and wrote in a grimy cafe/bar outfitted with furniture only the most desperate of squatters could love. I guess I'm that squatter, because I, with great care, pulled up a grimy chair up to a ramshackle table. and--as if in conscious tribute to my low-tech surroundings--worked on a story long-hand, which I hadn't done in awhile.
I have to say, it was great not to type, and I hoped I was contributing to the visual ambiance of the place, writing like that, my Moleskin notebook and novel placed just so--my mug of chai. My red dress and gray tights. A computer would have ruined everything.
Speaking of picturesque, while bent over my notebook, I overheard a vaguely Nick Caveish-looking 50-something Irish rocker engage is some earnest career/business planning with a craggy older man, also Irish. I heard the Irish Nick Cave mention that he was going to be on Good Morning America the morning of "St. Pat's." Who was this mysterious Celt?
A. said there should be an app for that.
(I just put "cool Irish rocker" in Google images and was given only a plethora of Bono.)
Tights: The tights' giveaway closes tomorrow! Stay tuned for the winner!
Upcoming: The first guest blogger on "Girls in Tight Places"appears on Monday! Watch this space.