So I finally get to my favorite writing place despite the snow mountain range formerly known as crosswalks. Then two guys stand next to the table behind me and start a conversation…well, actually one of them delivers a monologue (20 minutes and counting), about how painful it is to be an artist.* The gist is, nobody values or helps artists. No, young man. NOBODY WANTS TO HELP YOU. YOU ARE ANNOYING.
*I am tempting to show him the meaning of pain