I should work on my book, but I just want to aimlessly session. What’s in my glass, Cab. I know, big surprise. Need another pour, be right back.
Vintage variation. How am I changing with years? For some time now, I’ve composed the Self as the calm Cabernet. Am I confined by my own assumption? Envisioning my book, in someone’s living room, in a reader’s hand.
My character, Kelly, back in scope. I’m odd in the nearness to her augustness. This session, sinking. Shouldn’t speak of her anymore. My readers would love her, too. Paris traffic, cafe melodies, espresso. Take me away, to veridical romance.
With my character. She calls...