North by northwest. The round table nearest to Sprouts. I decided to face north, because I never face north, anymore. When I am here. All the best seats, for a wheelchair, face into the crowd. I usually try to write at some oblique angle. I want to focus, and not be distracted by social interactions.

Now that the weather is cooling down. Now that I am in afternoon shadow, rather than staring down summer’s desert sunset. I can sit here and look out at Southern Avenue, while I write. I am one with the ancients. The Sun dictates seating arrangements. She typically calms down.

Come, September.

A cruel time-travel trade.

A man goes back in time, with his iPhone. He trades the phone to the ancients living in Babylon. In exchange, they make him King, for his stay. Filled with indulgences of the flesh. When it is time to go back to the future. In order to prevent the people of Babylon from writing anything in their ancient texts. That could possibly get back to his wife. He leaves them in darkness. After shutting down the internet.


I am surprised by my ability to write, today. I hurt.

Not bad. Because, I can write. But, when I have painful days that are not bad, I sometimes ask why I should bother.

The answer is that I never know what will happen after trying. Each day of practice is another chance to crack the hard shell of the walnut. The meat is tasty. Yes.

I just wrote a passage for the narrative that forms the basis of my book. Today, I can hold my head high. On my pillow, as I drift to sleep.