What were you hoping for? A thick medal with a ribbon the colors of the flag. A long line of people shifting their weight? Was it fingers smudged with typewriter ribbon from fixing a sticky key. Were you hoping to find a new way to describe a flock of geese, a craggy promontory, a kiss goodnight? Is this your notebook? Is this seat taken? Are you elevating, this being August? Did you go to the reading? Did you fuck a great writer? Did you lose his favorite pen or steal it? Does time fold in on itself like some gorgeous origami? Is that your writing desk? Can I see what you’re working on?
What is it like, your writer dream?
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