I have this little scene that runs through my head quite often. In this scene, I'm sitting in some dark and smoke-filled bar, oblivious to everyone and everything around me, and I'm writing. It's a nice little scene, I think. I'm like some modern-day Hemingway or something.

This little scene hardly ever plays out in real life. For one thing, I'm certainly no Hemingway. I mean, he was a crazy old drunk fucker, right?

Oh. Never mind.

But the real reason this scene hardly ever plays out is that the part about me being oblivious hardly ever plays out. I like pretty girls too much for that. I like to watch stupid people too much. I have to be in a very rare mood to just ignore my surroundings and bury myself in my notebook.

And, speaking of pretty girls, there's one over there now. So I'm going to stop writing and look at her for a while. Maybe I'll get a chance to talk to her. That would be nice, I think.