Work's hot and slow. Well, there's a lot to do, but who wants to do it when their souls are dripping out through their pores? On the other hand, Jason was right about me working at Commonwealth Place. I'm surrounded by two very appealing things - books and men in swimsuits. A parade of pleasing specimens has gone through here all afternoon, even if its too parching to move. A couple of interesting books have caught my attention as well; some unread Marquez novels and "The Age of Kali" by the aforementioned Dalrymple. A rather odd moment of synchronity in the early 915s (travel books, for the uninitiated) and he caught my attention again.
Tonight I'm going home and working on a short story I started a while ago, based on a dream that one of the clerks had. It's been sitting in my rantbook waiting for me to lavish it with attention. It's written in the second person, which is a different toy for me to play with. I figure if I can finish the story - at around 4000 words - it'll be ready for my fiction workshop in September.
Debating ideas for a romantic date on Friday. Shooting up Heroin in a back alleyway on Wharf Street doesn't really have that - that je ne sais quoi, know what I mean? Even if we had tacos afterward. I suspect I'll have to come up with something plausible and appealing. Phwuh.