From my cozy little writing nest in the worn bucket chair that faces Loring Park, I glare around the room.
Clank! —– Clank!—————-maybe it stopped…
I squirm in my seat. Boost my iPod. The couple across from me takes their impassioned daily dialogue about politics and education up a notch. I find Flogging Molly. I want to flog molly. I take a deep breath and a sip of my coffee. It’s bitter and cold already. Oh god, my mid-section is being strangled by my tights. I feel constricted. Pinched. My pen is dry. My head is empty. The page is a mess.
At 7:00 a.m. I give up and head to the office. The first thing I’m going to do when I get there is grab a pair of scissors and hack the waistband off these clankin tights.