Yesterday at work I kept glancing at my calendar. I’d highlighted Tuesday the 25th in orange at some point, and I didn’t know why. All day it bothered me. Orange is a danger color. If it had been green, I’d have known I was expecting money. Yellow is day(s) off. Yellow is for sunshine and joy! *cough* Orange. Something to be aware of, but not bad. Bad would be pink.
There is a serious problem in my hometown. It borders on an epidemic. There are no cue balls in any bowling alley billiards rooms. You’d think they’d want us to hand over our $1.00 and play the game. You’d think they’d want us to know that their establishment can be trusted to have cue balls. You’d think they would care. What are two pool enthusiasts to do with no cue balls anywhere? It’s a chilling thought. A thought that makes my palms sweat and gives me nightmares.
You know, one of the nice things about being an Indie press is that we don’t have to subscribe to the “trends” that the big publishers follow. Trends, you say? There are trends? Oh, absolutely.
Two months ago, I moved into my first house. It’s a fixer-upper in an established urban neighbourhood full of older Italians and Portuguese and a younger multicultural crowd. There’s an elderly gentleman across the street who sits on his porch of a morning and always wishes me “Buon giorno!”