I carry a notebook and pen with me at all times.
My current notebook is a vaguely Victorian floral monstrosity, a spiral-bound book that has been shoved in purses, suitcases, used to shim unsteady tables, and, in one instance, has acted as a wasp-slaughtering device. There is a swath of duct tape holding the back cover together. It is an altogether rakish book, full of fascinating and colorful…
Ack. I can’t do it.
Hi. My name is Pearl, and I write stuff down.
My newest addition to the book? A comment made to me by T whilst sitting at a Chinese restaurant:
“Your frowning monkey is no match for my grinning tiger.”
Now something like that, you have to write down.
I have to admit there have been times, in public, that I’ve caught people looking at me, looking at my book, looking back at me. I can see it in their eyes.
Check out the woman writing in her diary.
I’m bringing it with me tonight, to Dusty’s, where Vin is celebrating his last day of employment at a place he wasn’t particularly fond of. There will be drinking, shouting, singing, whistling, table-slapping, and inappropriate comments.
That’s right. I’m gonna write it down.
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