Buenos Aires

A writer on sabbatical

I have seen my future as a writer. Here it is.

A writer on break

I like this old guy, who is younger than I am. This is his place, just off the corner of Santa Fe and Uriarte in Buenos Aires. There is a church on the corner, so maybe he gets some spillover. I want to grow out my beard and maybe exercise a bit less so I can look like him. I’m close now. I want a cup and a decent seat, something to read nearby. For a coin donation, I will read something, a bit of prose maybe, something that has risen to the level of mediocrity to which I wish to become accustomed. It takes a lot of work to be mediocre. But I want a cat on a long leash to stay with me, a calico cat, so children will stop to pet it and their parents will drop a coin in my cup, and then I will read something mediocre to polite applause.

I am content with this future.


6 replies »

  1. Haha. Here’s the question…Are you going to deliver your performance around the world? You’ve been living your nomadic existence and I can’t imagine you sitting around in one place for long.

    Okay I still have to send you an email…been a bit side-tracked and also sick with the flu.

    • Yes, Nicole, you owe me an email.

      If my literary future leads to a begging perch on a sidewalk, I hope it will be in a place with nice weather and friendly passersby who will drop a coin in my cup if I recite some of my prose. Then I’d stay there. Well, maybe I’d move across the street or around the block from time to time.

  2. Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can’t just set up shop on the corner of Santa Fe and Uriarte. First, you have to join the Street Writer’s Guild, and then you have to put in time down on the back streets, and then when your peers think you have proved that you have the heart and the thick skin and the thousand-mile-long track record of disappointment with the reading public’s taste for all things vampire and Jersey Shore, only THEN have you earned the right to sit out on the grand boulevard, rattling your paper cup at the literary crossroads of Sante Fe and Uriarte.

    I’m right behind you, by the way, scoping out my own territory on the side lines. I’m looking for a spot near a Starbuck’s. But that might be too much to hope for.