Stellar San Francisco afternoon; we may as well be in the midst of a fucking RomCom meet-cute. Across a long, wobbly table in the Castro I’m staring at Meg, willing her to be my muse. I’ve drugged her with copious amounts of caffeine. Inspiration will strike at any moment. We’re surrounded by the pretentious white noise of the unconventionally employed. I bore into Meg’s forehead waiting for genius. I’m pretty certain at this point she’s frozen with discomfort.
Thanks for the first paragraph, Meg. It was well worth it. Continue reading