Have you been here long?

Just about five minutes . . . Check out the Latina, 10 o’clock . . .

Just your type. ‘Fecundity of the earth,’ ‘child-bearing hips’ and all that. She’s probably fucked-up in the head, which again, is just your type. You should really go and ask her if she’d be willing to take ‘your seed’ and produce ‘an heir.’ Tell her you’ll cover the tip.

Fuck you. How are the kids?

Good. Everyone is sleeping through the night so that’s a major achievement.

Florence starts primary school in a week right, or whatever they call the school after kindergarten here?

Yep. I’m releasing the most precious thing in my life into the safe arms of 21st century Western society for 7 hours a day. What’s up with you – what’s this new idea?

Hi, we’re ready to order whenever you . . OK. I’ll have the Tuscan platter and a regular coffee and  . . .

Just tea for me. Thanks.

So?

Watch.

What am I watching?

Wait. Why aren’t you eating anything?

I had an early lunch with this editor I’ve been pitching.

And?

Who knows man. It’s a real kick-in-the-nuts to have to go and pitch a guy and even if you get the best result you’re hoping for it’s still not going to cover your costs of researching and writing the piece. And then, because no one wants to read more than a tweet these days, I feel like I’m pitching War and Peace at Macy’s.

Perhaps the thing to think about is how to pitch the same work in different media?

Maybe.

Ah, thank you Sir. Can I get some black pepper? Thanks.

Right, try a cornichon.

I hate that shit.

Just pick it up as if you were going to eat it then. And use a utensil you barbarian.

It’s a friking butter-knife man, it’s not sharp enough.

Exactly!

What?

When people sit down to eat, do you ever feel there’s a missing utensil?

No.

Look at you right now. What are your utensil choices?

My ‘utensil choices?’

Yeah.

The spoon or the knife.

Right, don’t you think there should be something between a knife and a spoon? Like a spoon, but it allows you to firmly grip whatever you are eating?

You mean like a tongs?

How about a pointy spoon? Well, I mean a spoon with a number of points, well, more like a miniature pike.

A miniature-pike . . .

Yeah, you’d hold it in your left hand and stab, say a piece of meat with it, and then use the pike to hold the piece of meat while you cut it with the knife in your right hand. Then, when you’ve cut the meat into the size you want, you’d use this miniature-pike to put the small piece of food in your mouth?

What’s wrong with chopsticks?

Fuck chopsticks. This would be one thing that you hold in your hand and put the fucking food straight into your mouth.

Look around. Do you see people having problems eating? And let’s say you’re right. Let’s say that your miniature pike is better than chopsticks, how are you going to convince them to switch? Specifically, where is the money going to come from to finance this mass re-education? Chopsticks are too engrained. Right or wrong that’s what people are used to. Your miniature-pike is a solution in search of a problem.

Yeah, I know. It would just be more efficient though – right?

Maybe.

I need to get away.

Where?

I don’t know, somewhere. I’m tired of looking at the same shit.

Didn’t you do that already?

That was a long time ago now. Check out Lydia Davis, Paul Austers’ ex. She’s got a new book of short stories out. Guy at the Guardian thinks she’s the bomb. She’s a creative writing professor somewhere here.

Lydia Davis.

Yeah, she’s supposed to be  innovative. Some of the stories are really short, almost like those tweets you love. I don’t know how anyone can commit to a novel when no one knows what’s going to happen or how it’s all going to end. It seems to me a novel is a conclusion on life. How fucking arrogant can you get? Don’t you think? I mean the arc is your conclusion on life right? Is there anything more idiotic than a young novelist?

Hang on. What’s-up? I don’t think you can go to the emergency room with an ear-infection . . . Call Alice and see what she says. There’s probably something at Rite-Aid for it. Give her a call and then if it’s not something we can deal with then call Dr. Breton and see if he has an opening. Okay. Shoot me a text to let me know what’s going on. Bye.

Everything OK?

Florence has an ear-infection. I’ve got to go. I think you’re being an absolutist – an arc is not a conclusion, it’s a perspective. Perspectives change. I think you’re just stalling because you’re afraid of failing or maybe you’re afraid of looking like a fool. Believe me, you especially are going to look like a fool. But you’ve got to suck it up. I’ve got to figure out how to deal with an ear-infection. I’ve no idea what to do. But I’ll figure it out. Just fucking write already. I’ll call you later.