“So… like… I´m reading this article that you wrote. It´s really bad and immature”, I tell the writer as I sip my coffee.

“So… like… I´m reading this article that you wrote. It´s really bad and immature”, I tell the writer as I sip my coffee.

I continue talking, “so who is it for? What´s it about?”

The writer pauses; sips his coffee; he turns his head to look out the window then back at me.

“It´s for me.”

I pause; excuse me?

The writer takes a sip of his coffee.

“The article is for me–it´s to remember or to let go, to find peace, or to remind myself of something. It´s a progression of life that moves forward and I merely leave notes that I´ve written.”

I pause; I have no clue what this dude is talking about.

“So… like… I don´t understand.”

The writer pauses; sets his taza down; picks up a biscotti; takes a bite.

“You are not the audience–you are the observer.

I pause; did he just take my biscotti?

“Yeah”, I say as I reach over and grab the biscotti, “that´s actually my biscotti.”

He pauses.

“Oh”, he says as he leans forward in the chair, “sorry.”

He picks up his taza; takes a sip.

“So… like… anyways.. as I was saying. I write articles in the morning; edit in the afternoon; and read them in the evening. It, with my herd of savage cats, is my companion. I share with you so maybe it will help–or give you ideas, make you think about something, or, possibly, just see that I did my article today. Does that make sense? Like everyday, like a digitalSudoku puzzle, I try to complete one.  One article a day keeps me sane–more or less. So like it´s not just about passing the time, or making money–it´s a way to… well… I don´t know. I write.”

I pause; I think he just drank from my taza.

“I´m sorry”, I say as I reach over and grab the taza, “that´s my coffee.”

He pauses.

“Oh”, he says as he turns his head to the window, and then back to me, “sorry.”

“Yeah”, I say as I lean back in the chair and take a sip, “whatever.”

I pause.

“So”, I say as I lean forward in the chair and pick up a biscotti, “you´re fired.”

The writer pauses; he leans back in the chair; he gasps; he turns his head to the window, then back to me.

He pauses again.

“Thank you.”

I pause; what? Isn´t he supposed to cry or something?

The writer picks up his taza; takes a sip; sets is down.

“Yeah”, he replies as he stands up from the chair, “I didn´t want to work.”

I pause; oooohhhhhh!

I turn to the window and then back to him.

“Um”, I say as I lean forward in my chair and set my taza down, “you´re rehired.”

The writer pauses; he turns back to me; he pulls the chair out from the cafe table; sits down.

“I know”, he says as he leans back in his chair, “so I´m going to need a raise in pay.”

I pause; what the fuck is this?

“So”, I say as I lean back in my chair, “like… you´re fired.”

The writer pauses; my wife said this would work.

“But….”, the writer says as he leans forward.

“Look”, I say as I lean back in the chair and turn my head to look out the window, “I´ll pay for the coffee, this time. Thanks for the article. Good luck.”

The writer pauses; I pause; the waiter comes over with the cuenta; I pull out my digitaltarjeta; moments later, I hit propina 15% on my digitaltelephone; nearly instantly, the waiter´s digitalphone beeps; a new message; he smiles; I nod, a little bit; the writer starts to get nervous.

“So”, the writer says as he slowly gets up from his chair, “… like… I´m just… like… you know… I don´t know.”

He turns around and takes a step to leave the cafe; I turn my head to look out the window; there´s 13 surfers todayhope there´s a swell later. I turn back to the waiter; I put a finger up in the air; moments later, another taza of coffee is brought over; I take a sip; this is fucking delicious. I turn my head to the waiter.

“Where´s this coffee from?”, I ask as I set the taza down.



Everything can change, today, by starting on THAT.

You're going to get 24 hours today

How will you use it? New ideas in your inbox delivered when you need it most.

last 100 posts