Those days I could’ve written the book on pounding the pavement. All days, there aren’t too many cities in the world where you can’t find my foot prints, etched into their hypothetical sidewalks.
On the mornings my stories would print, I’d walk to the bagel shop near my apartment and buy the paper and a coffee. I’d bet they still have one of my dollar bills taped to their walls, as proof - that even the most insignificant of moments, insignificant of stories, matter after all, to me anyway - and probably some retired Floridian, who thought my feel good stories were some of the most important news since Ronald Reagan - and I wouldn’t trade them for any others in the world. And i wouldn’t trade my own.
So keep your eyes open, keep writing. keep doing things you’ll look back on and remember fondly. and keep hoping, because hope is the only way forward, and the only way toward any story worth telling.
