 I sit alone. I wish a friend would pass by to divert my mind from the emptiness it is currently experiencing. A tale is a hard thing to tell when nothing comes to mind. Surely my stories have not ended. Maybe I am surrounded by dull people who are not making my life interesting. Maybe I need new friends. Maybe I do not travel or live in the places of stories. Whatever the cause I am drawing blanks, but I need to write a story. A change of venue might help. No, I am not talking about coffee shop. Okay I can try a coffee shop. I need pavlova. Sadly, here I am writing waiting for someone to do something that sparks a story, but they all conspire to be normal. Maybe normalcy is the story, but no one would read that. Wait there is that attractive woman over there. But alas we do not write stories from the head in the pants but the one on your shoulders.
Maybe I should yell that might create a story of renown. I do not like the word renown. A story of interest. No, I have already used interest too much. God now I am stuck here until the right word reveals itself. I have been waiting for five minutes the right word has not come. Geez. Is this writer’s block? But that is so trite. What is the damn (my grammar correct alerts me that this word might offend you) right word? It is not writer’s block it is a damn vocabulary block. Note is that the word. No, it does not quite catch the essence of what I mean. A story of consequence. Although I would love a story of consequence I would be satisfied with a story of content. Damn I still do not have the word. I start listening to the conversations around me in the hope someone uses the word I need. No this is not eavesdropping. It is an artistic endeavor to improve the quality of my work. Oh, these heathens have no words of use only tales of affairs, workplace embezzlements, deaths, and yes you guessed it the weather. How pedestrian. But no word. May be if I read the signs, the coffee cups, or other written verbiage around me a word that resonates will appear. Nothing but artisanal premium on the cup. Coca cola on the fridge. This place is empty there are no more conversations to hear or enough words to read. What kind of coffee shop is this there are not enough words in this place. I am not coming back here. Okay that is an overstatement. I love their tiramisu. Oh, hell what is the word I need. People rush out of the building leaving me nothing in return but a blank sheet of paper. All that hubbub and no stories. Writing is not easy. I might get their seven-layer bar it is superb. The staff is not behind the counter. Probably trying their best to not reveal the word I need or hide the story I seek. Life is so amazing why can I not find a story to tell its triumphs and harrumphs. The stagnations and revelations. The mystery and misery. The Surprises and reprises. The devastations and celebrations. And yet with all this that life offers I cannot muster up one story. Wait a moment is one of these the word I seek. Oh hell, I forgot the word for which I was searching. Now I am totally lost in the box of no returns. I have nothing to say. ‘Sir’. Where is this voice coming from? It is not the voice of any of my fictional characters of which I am familiar. Wait, the voice is coming from outside my head. It is the voice of a frightened barista. What is he saying? You need to leave. ‘Why?’ I ask indignantly. ‘The building is on fire and everyone has left but you’ he replies. ‘You mean I need to leave’ I with an annoyance answer. ‘Yes’, the panicked barista states. I pack slowly up. I cough a little it sure is smokey in here I consider. The barista has long since left me alone. I walk out the building and rhe sounds of shrieking sirens accost my ears. Crowds are gathered. I think a story still has not disclosed itself to me. I depart not having my word or my story. Disappointing day.
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