From sources.
Friday afternoon, I was afoot in downtown San Antonio, marginally, about some business.
“Had to see a guy about a dog.”
As a last thought, I stuck a camera in my pocket, and I adjusted the camera’s setting, to see if that produced a better image. Bright, warm, sunny afternoon in South Texas, the Xmas displays as a backdrop for a warm afternoon in shorts and sandals? Sure.
One coffee shop I stopped at, one of the girls working there, she’s originally from Austin.
“Do you like San Antonio?” she asked with a slight mew of distaste curling through her Aries lips.
Early in my daily wandering, I was marveling at how much I like San Antonio, which caught me quite by surprise. Prefer it, even. Slower, more bucolic. More forgiving.
Way weirder than Austin, but no one cares.
My daily routine is to fix — or procure — coffee, first thing, then write. Write horoscopes first, as there’s a schedule of sorts, need to be ready each Wednesday evening. Then, after the afternoon, either readings or other business deals, I can write here. This is space, and at the end of this month, the new space, is evening and other odd scribblings.
There’s never any shortage of material, that’s for sure. I live in place that inspires awe and wonder, and that’s, I think, the important piece. Every day is a new (mini) adventure.
The Hemingway passage reflects what I’ve been told, time and again, by writing teachers.
“Time and again,” the grammar checker chokes on that phrase. Too bad.