i took my laptop to a local, eclectic coffee house where i bought a tall, nonfat latte.
then i plopped myself down in a deep, cushioned chair, and pretended to be an important writer, as i poked at my keyboard in dizzy delight.
but when i finished, i looked around and realized i was simply among the retired, the unemployed, and three college-type, know-it-all employees, who bored me to tears with their loud opinions of foreign filmmakers, using that annoying, over-enunciated, perfect english.
in other words, i was amidst the unimpressionable.
when i later told keaton about my writing adventure and those college idiots, she told me i really was a tiny man sometimes.
i think she was just mad because i’ve never been a big fan of foreign films and she is.