The last time my laptop and I went out for a coffee date was in London. To the Putney High Street, to be specific. In between sentences I glanced out the window and saw an Argos shop, moms with prams on coffee dates, big red buses, never ending never stopping streams of pedestrians, black cabs, and Nero's blue and black logo staring back at me jealously as i sipped on a Costa latte (or Americano, depending on how poor I felt).
Now for the first time since then, I'm back to writing, working on the piece that I started during the last term of my M.A. And staring back at me from the window is not a big red bus, but a big red In-N-Out sign next to a waving palm tree.
It's a different climate out here, and I've got to find a way to adjust. Somehow a California palm tree and its association with beaches and warmth and relaxing doesn't do as much for my writing ambitions as a city full of busy peds and publishing houses and literary genius. To be sure, there is intelligence in California. I've got to stop judging the state by its misleading lazy dazy ways and get to work.