I'm stuck on the final scene in my story, so I take a walk down Prospect Park West to try to dislodge my thoughts, strolling beneath bowering trees, light playing between the leaves, talking to myself, making brilliant points and discarding them again.
And since I'm already at 8th Street, I might as well walk the rest of the way down to 9th Street and back over to 7th Avenue to my favorite donut shop, because I deserve a damn donut.
Then, walking back up 7th Avenue with my donut nestled in its curled up white paper bag, admiring the lovely day I seem to be having, I think how great it would be to have an errand to run, to justify my long detour around the neighborhood.
With a gasp and a cold thrill in my stomach, I suddenly recall my morning conversation with Katie, that I actually DO have an errand to run, and I only barely remembered before I got home and missed it.
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One year ago: Big Bird
Two years ago: Marry Your Opposite
Three years ago: A Metaphor For So-Called Post-Racial Discourse In America
Four years ago: Is There a (Cat) Ghost In My House?
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