so i'm sitting in an internet cafe, pretending to be an important writer because that's where they hang out, when it dawns on me.
what does an important writer look like anyway?
and that's when it struck me that plaid pants with a dandy pink polo shirt may not be the right look.
especially in manhattan.
more specifically, bleeker street in the west village.
i mean, i think people took note of me but unless they thought i was writing for golf digest, i don't believe i fooled nary a one.
so i came home and wrote this because i got really bad golf digest writers block amidst my peeps at the cafe.
and i couldn't be positive but i think i heard someone yelling "fore" from the dark recesses of the room, followed by the subtle snickers of important writers.