Over Coffee (1)

If we were having coffee… this week I’d be drinking strong bitter black coffee, the kind that I always drink when I’m in the midst of a story. You’d ask me how my week was and I’d use the standard answers I always give when someone asks me that.

I’d talk about what I’m doing with my writing, complain about how I never quite seem to get the time to work on last year’s NaNoWriMo project but still plan to do a new story entirely for 2016. I’d be cagey about the short story I’m doing now – I’m wary over protecting my ideas, worried that they might be found elsewhere before I’ve had the chance to complete them.

You’d suggest a selfie, coffee and brunch debris on the table in the frame, and I’d laugh, shrug off the arm pulling me closer, duck out of the shot. Selfies are really not my thing, I’d tell you, and you’d slip your smartphone back into your bag. You know this already, but it doesn’t stop you wishing they were just once; just this one time to mark online that we were here doing something.

(well, i do that already, don’t i?)

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