There was this guy at Starbucks who was not writing. There was a group of Chinese people at the next table to the guy, and the one with the gray perm elbowed his airspace when she took off her sweater, and hit his laptop with its zipper when they all left.

The guy was reading other people's short stories and getting annoyed and scared. Annoyed by all the crap. Scared by the genius. He could be a genius too. But he'd have to write the stories, which wasn't at all fair. Genius is itself, and needs no damn stories.

He had half an hour left before he'd have to pack up and walk home, so he opened up Word for the fiftieth time and started one of those awful writer-not-writing stories. He hated those. They were never any good. They weren't even better than not writing.

I'll post it at my blog, he thought. There'll be a good line or two in it because I'm a genius.

The bass player interrupted his story with a wave on his way out. The bass player was usually reading stock market reports when he was at Starbucks. The guy didn't understand this. Bass players don't even own cars.

Never post your writing exercises at your blog. It wastes your time and annoys the blog.

You can't make a silk purse out of a blog's ear, the guy thought, but the friendly barista was waving at him. He pretended not to see, but it was too late. The line about the blog's ear was ruined and would never be genius.

I should have a werewolf in this story, he thought.

The friendly werewolf was waving at him. He pretended not to see, but the werewolf was a big extroverted goof who didn't know how to recognize deep thought and leave the guy alone.

"How's the kids?" woofed the werewolf.

The guy pretended to be drawn out of a writing trance. "Huh?"

"I'm going in for the lycanthrectomy tomorrow," the werewolf said.

"I thought your insurance didn't cover it."

"I got a grant from the Unusually Hairy Knights of Columbus."

"Well that's good."

"How's the movie coming?"

Werewolves don't have good memories. "It's finished. I sent it out for duplication. It'll be hitting festivals soon."

"Cool."

The werewolf was wearing its green Starbucks apron, but was hanging around instead of going to work.

"You on duty this shift?"

"Yeah."

The guy rested his hands on the laptop keyboard and tried a long silence.

"You writing a book?" the werewolf said.

"Short story."

"Cool. When's it coming out?"

"I don't think it is."

"How come?"

"It sucks."

"I'ma get to work."

The werewolf saluted and went behind the counter with the other baristas.

I should have a writer in this story, the guy thought.


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