I've been busy.
I shall not complain. Any freelancer who complains about being busy should be shaken, eh? So I shall not complain.
In the midst of my busy-ness, I met a man named Steve with a delightful nicotine smile. He reads the newspaper--primarily the City Paper--religiously so we discuss current events and politics mostly. He is 53 and was once in the military. Now he sleeps at the Shell station most nights and sometimes in the P.O. when it's cold and when they don't kick him out of the building.
An addict of morphine and alcohol, Steve was dry for four months straight since his addiction developed years ago. He is not dry, clean or sober anymore, though. Once he cleaned up, he got a job at a veteran's hospital where he had access to all of the morphine he could want. Once he had all the morphine he could want, he got high, lost his job and landed under the starry ceiling again.
Steve and I had lunch for about two hours a few weeks ago and have run into each other every now and then since. He likes that I'm a writer and gives me career advice. "We can do great things with your writing!" he says.
Maybe we will . . .