Chapin City Blues

Writing is writing whether done for duty, profit, or fun.

Last night, I listened to depressing music followed by the latest episode of Skins followed by more depressing music. I prefer depression these days, it seems. There’s probably some psychological term for people like me. And whatever it is, I’m sure it’s absolute bullshit. Not that I thrive on depression. Not at all. It’s the …

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The person sitting in front of me—this person who is enjoying a luke-warm cup of Earl Grey (with a generous squirt of honey, but passing on the lemon wedge), while our barista sets down a marbled sliced of cheesecake—isn’t what I imagined. Though, I can’t say what I imagined. Or who, for that matter. “Expecting …

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