A Short Story
Sometimes when I sit here, I imagine that every story is about me. It serves my bulbous ego until it doesn’t. Mainly I do this so I don’t have to write. Yes, I am that kind of writer. A passive observer hoping to get discovered at a small table in the corner of this nondescript, yet aggressively independent café that caters just as pleasantly to soccer moms as it does to multi-hyphenates.