I am back from NYC. I am exhausted. We ate, drank, and moved at the speed of lightening. I am not accustomed to moving at the speed of lightening. I do not wish to become accustomed to moving at the speed of lightening. I wish to go slow. Observe. Make notes. The ferry to Staten Island was amazing in letting me do all of those things. The rest of the time in the city – not so much.
Writing-wise, the only real progress I made was to finish Stephen King’s 11/22/63 on the two plane rides. And I have to admit, I was starting to wonder if it was EVER going to end.
Drinking the lovely Robert Sinskey Vin Gris of Pinot Noir, even as I type.