A measly 620 today. Just as I got my feet under me, I had to skedaddle to an appointment, and some grocery shopping. I've been out of apples all week, and feel all sorts of pale and squashy as a result. I know, I know, how hard is it to run to the store? It's only I like a certain kind of apples, from Trader Joe's, and it's a thirty minute drive to get them. I'm working this weekend, though, so I can hopefully make up some time.
There was a Somebody at Trader Joe's tonight. Skulking about, watching everyone watch him, a rocker of some sort, painfully thin and pale and jet black hair and sunglasses. All I could think was wow, that's a lot of effort to put in to hold forth at Trader Joe's. Hopefully he was dolled up for a show tonight and it wasn't for the organic masses. And I said a small prayer of thanks that my showmanship must be limited to the page, because it would be so exhausting to have to be Somebody all the time, even whilst grocery shopping.
Trader Joe's is one of my favorite people watching spots in Nashville. It attracts a massive cross-section of Nashvillians. I couldn't help but wonder what Taylor would make of it - TJs being a post-Taylor phenomenon. So yes, there I was, plotting the murder of a pale, aging rocker amongst the apples. I do so love being a crime fiction writer.
Sweet dream and happy weekend to you.