|I had no idea that hours from this moment, random Pantera fans would throw me the devil horns |
from their car waiting for a light on the Bowery. Very rejuvenating!
Me, breaking, in Cafe Ost.
Writing is slippery. I can't think about what I'm doing too much. I can barely blog about it.
I ingested an Americano AND an iced coffee. Super decadent writing day.
Also, I recorded in my notebook the names of lit mags that had been encouraging in the past.
I ended this session by reading a few of Frank O'Hara's Lunch Poems, some of them written in the neighborhood where I wrote today, where I always write.
I'm not writing about New York, though. I never write about New York.