I found another neighborhood eatery, although I should consider this one in the next neighborhood because it’s twice as far away as the Italian place I spoke about this week. I didn’t finish writing yesterday. Today, after taking a long walk down to Columbia City, the hometown of my MC, I’m sitting in the bucks of stars thinking of how to get out of my rut. I’ll save those words for my next posting. Here was the only crap I was able to write yesterday, thanks to movies and too much video games (I’m an addict, what can I say?).

-So, how goes your battle with cigarettes?

-I’m working on it.

-Let’s go.

-Where?

-To have a smoke.

-I don’t have any cigarettes.

-That’s okay, I have some.

-Ow, ow, ow, ow. You know, this is the reason I don’t bring cigarettes to work, John. Do you have a lighter too?

I twisted my fingers in a jerky, stiff movement and waved my arms and wrists. I had long forgotten how spastic this action looked since the few people who saw it had their own spastic action, or, more usually, forgot my spastic action moments later. Or that was how it had always been until Julia. She was the exception. I met Julia three months before in Tenement Used Books where I worked stocking shelves. I enjoyed the smell and feel of old books, and since the stock changed infrequently, I spent most of my time reading the shelves, and providing unsolicited guidance to the customers on the quality of the books they planned on purchasing.