So, I'm walking outside the coffee shop when I notice this fucking twink staring at me from his perch along the benches on the side of the cafe. I've seen that look before in a horny dog. Oh, well, what can I say, it was hot out that morning. A simmering 108 and it only being ten in the morning.
Anyway, I approached said kid and actually the thing that I liked about his hipster ass was his t-shirt. So:
ME: Excuse me, do you mind if I take your picture?
HIM: Sure. I don't mind.
HIM: You some kind of photographer or something?
ME: No. I'm a writer.
HIM: Really? What do you write.
ME: Unpublishable garbage, apparently.
HIM: Oh...they can't be that bad.
ME: I'm currently writing a novel about a gay homeless person and his romance with a heroin addict. Or at least that was how it started.
HIM: How it started?
ME: Books take on a life of their own. They twist and turn in the middle of the night like an interesting sex act but in the end you are rarely surprised by the outcome. You are generally left with a feeling of uncomfortable shame.
HIM: Well...uh..hey! You have a nice day.
I am left out front puffing on my cigarette staring at the sun...