I came here to write after going other places to do other things that aren’t writing. Yesterday on my way to work I had big plans to write a novel. That’s probably because I was on my way to work at the restaurant, reading The Brothers K by Duncan, and not sitting here like I am now with less than an hour of time and a novel to write. All of a sudden I am remembering these emails that I’ve got to write. I haven’t filled out my financial aid paperwork for the fall. I should call my mom and see how she’s been. Who’s got time to write in New York City? Or go for runs in the morning. Or change the sheets? Or make dinner instead of getting leftovers from work? And these girls at the counter are talking about the guy outside in the martian t shirt. He’s the first guy the girl who just changed her outfit at the counter kissed after she broke up with her last boyfriend. They hope he doesn’t come in. She’s glad she put on the shorts. What the hell am I doing write now? I’m writing. That’s what I’m doing. I am drinking the most complicated vegan non caffeinated beverage I could find in the Bean on 3rd street and 1st avenue, and I am checking the time every three minutes, and I am pulling words off the tables next to me until I can get my rhythm back.