Pulled

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Every morning, I go to the same coffee shop in my neighborhood for coffee. Iced coffee in the summer, a skim latte in the winter. This coffee shop is also my writing place in the winter. Usually on Saturday mornings. Because I’ve written so much there, when I go in the morning to stop in, I often just want to stay. I want to sit down and write all day. I have all the words and none of the time. Every few days, that pulls at me. Hard.

But life. Work. Off I go.

And sometimes I stop to take a picture of my coffee and my sneakers. To hold on to the moment just a little longer before I have to go. That must count for something.

Author: Casey

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