The cafe is slow and steady but my writing is sporadic, hiding between thoughts of four hundred word challenges and how I have to get the hair out of the bathroom sink. Images from “The Ring” whistle by and I notice a wasp kill a random bug outside the cafe window. Or maybe it was his own butt the whole time. I’ll never know. The truth is I didn’t feel like writing about the wasp or anything else happening right in front of me but I couldn’t make up anything else more interesting.