8:30

I hooked a right, passing the tiny kitchen and down the familiar hallway. My journey neared an anticlimactic end. My shoes scuffed the aging rug and I could smell the men's bathroom. No clicking or clacking assaulted my ears. No conversation leaped from around corners or struggled to reach me from behind solid oak doors. My bag swung and thumped my hip softly with each step.

To my left, I saw the 'clearing at the end of the path'. Mis-matched monitors stood shoulder to shoulder, comforting each other. To their left a dusty coffee cup held strong to three pens of warring colors. Red separated blue from black, unsure of which one may initiate the final ink battle. A ten-key calculator with with faded four-five-six slept, waiting to be called upon to confirm certain suspicions I may or may not wrestle with that day.

I sat. The green vinyl (there's always a place for vinyl, in any story of any length) chair yielded, squeaking as I rotated my knees to proper position. Two cell phones leaped from respective pockets and settled themselves to the keyboard's left. One vibrated happily - twice - and went silent once more.

It is 8:30 am and I am now ready to start another day.

The New Pursuit

All,

I've been away (working like a dog) for some time. I haven't written a single word of fiction in nearly a year. I have felt the pull of blogging for a few weeks now.

I refer you to www.thenewpursuit.com, a new blog written by a friend of mine.

The last four years of my life have left me with questions. Some are repetitive and naive, others are unanswerable. Most revolve around - What is important?

thenewpursuit.com is one man's answer to that last.

Well done, Bill.