Having read 14 x 2 pages of Creative Writing student writing, I'm ready to pay the bill and head home. Love and patience helped, as much as I could muster. Kick or two in the ass, more like it, one of my 8-year old Blunnies--you'll remember them, dear reader (a slushy good eve to you, Uncle Blimp and Aunt Goodyear), from here or here--which tonight massaged the base of my table at the FreeHouse, to the beat of Oilers-Caps and classic rock.
I admire deeply where the pieces of writing come from, even it's Café Cliché or fantasy fiction or romance, sometimes all at once. There's also love and play and human warmth and sneaky voices that maybe should leap once in a while.
Oops I'm still at the pub when Tom Cochrane comes on.
Drink my water and get out.