Lately, I’ve been trying to do cumulative things. Things like saving money, running more, meeting people. Adding a little, over time. I won’t be ready for the big events, I guess. Like that Bright Eyes song, right, I’d rather be working for a paycheck than waiting to win the lottery.

I went up to the lady sitting behind the sign-in sheet and introduced myself. She gave me a look and asked if I had been here before. I said no, it was my first time. She shrugged. I made a mark next to my name and sat down.

The cafe was on a really quiet residential street and it was just as quiet on the inside. Everyone typed on their laptops and sipped from thick mugs. I was there for a writing session, where people sat together and just wrote for an hour or two. It sounded contradictory when I read the event description. I mean, what was the point of doing solitary things together?

There were two other first-timers at my table, and one regular. He was working on a fantasy book too. The first newcomer liked unreliable narrators. I wasn’t sure what the third person was working on, but she had asthma and apologized for coughing so much and reassured us that she wasn’t spreading contagious germs.

It was nice talking with people who wrote. So there it was, the point. I spent three hours there and didn’t feel like I should be anywhere else or be doing anything else.

On the way back, it finally occurred to me why the sign-in lady thought she recognized me from somewhere. We freaking work in the same place. Crazy.