I sit in the Pearl Street Starbuck’s here in Boulder, with a handy T-Mobile Hotspot of which to take advantage. (Yes, we must have perfect grammar, mustn’t we? We must.) (Okay, enough of that!) I sit in a warm purple velvet armchair in front of the fireplace with fake logs that nobody’s lit yet. The other warm purple velvet armchair is taken by a sleepy old man who’s either a street person or a math professor over at CU — hard to tell which. (I think he’s a street person because he’s better-dressed, but that’s just my opinion.)
I ate a normal breakfast this morning at the IHOP, so I must be getting acclimated to the altitude. My loss of appetite has been with me the whole time, until now, I guess.
As you will see by the time of this posting, my late-morning habits are also taking hold once more. No matter how hard I try to discipline myself, I end up almost always taking the morning for myself. Descartes did too, so don’t look down your nose at me.
Time for more novel-writing, now that I have my cup of tea just like I like it. See ya…
white pebble 