Remember how I said that I used my screenplay as a blueprint for my novel? Well, that screenplay was never finished. I first started it in order to enter a contest that I was made aware of as my position as founder of a screenwriting group on Facebook. The idea of having a real shot at getting noticed by Hollywood was immensely motivating. I had one month to finish it, which was more than enough time. But by the time I got up to page 62, I decided that I had to take my aspirations to write a novel more seriously. I shelved the unfinished screenplay.

Several months later, after much deliberation and procrastination, I started the actual groundwork and began writing my novel. With experience, I found that 2,000 words is about what I can write without working too hard. Beyond that, it takes a bit of discipline and effort. Last night, I wrote two chapters.

So far, 2,000 seems to be the magic number. I can write that many words, and each chapter seems to be averaging around 2,500 words (I had one really long chapter). Using Catcher in the Rye as a rough guide, its 74,000 words is divided into 26 chapters, meaning there is an average of 2046 words per chapter. If I were to model my book on it, I guess my pacing is relatively on track.

The more I get into my novel, the more I am seeing the differences between a novel and a screenplay. The screenplay is more like a sprint whereas the novel is a marathon. I've always been a sprinter. I never had much stamina. Or patience for that matter. It seems though that the novel is teaching me (or rather, forcing me) to sit down and focus. As Holden Caulfield would probably agree with, anybody can knock out a screenplay in less than a month, but it takes a real writer to finish a real novel. With probably a month and a third of a novel behind me, I imagine that my first draft will be completed by the end of the year. A second draft would probably be ready in another half year (considering that I will have other obligations to tend to), meaning I ought to have a pretty decent manuscript to show VB by next year's holiday season.

I've become incredibly vigilant with my writing. At the end of each and every chapter (and sometimes even every small scene), I ask myself: what is this showing? Why is it here? What do we learn about the characters? My eighth and ninth chapter has been my best writing so far, and perhaps it's because the story had gotten beyond the sixty-secondth page of my blueprint. But from here on out, it's even more important for me to be careful to stay on track.

To do that, I have taken to asking myself yet another immensely important question: Why do we care about Mark (the main character, name subject to change)? There must absolutely be a reason that we care about him, otherwise the reader won't go forward. My novel is a character study, so I must remind myself to reveal his character in a way that causes the reader to actually give a hoot.

Another unusual strategy I've taken to is to review my book as if it were being studied in class. Sure, it's a little presumptuous, but the way I figure, if you aspire to literary greatness, there's no better way than to treat your own work as if it were great enough to be studied.

As usual though, I remind myself of these guidelines through and through while keeping in mind that I cannot look back too often, in the interest of actually finishing the damned thing. After nine chapters, I think I'm finally getting the hang of it all. I can't wait to complete the first draft so I can get to the good stuff: refining it all. Adding literary touches where needed, playing with words and structure...that's the stuff I really enjoy.

Writing a novel is a deceptively massive undertaking. VB had told me that I should be more than confident enough to go forth with my literary aspirations. Only now, as I approach 30,000 words, have I truly gained that deserved confidence. With any luck (along with my continued hard work and discipline), perhaps my dream of writing the Great American Novel (or perhaps just a Great American Metropolitan City Novel) will come true after all.

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I was on the hunt for high quality glass jars that would provide an airtight seal in order to properly store my coffee beans. I searched for them on Amazon but couldn't find anything suitable (a lot of the jars didn't have the rubber gasket and clamp). They were either sold by a third-party who didn't offer free shipping or they were too expensive. Luckily, the idea to shop at Crate & Barrel struck me. What better place to search for such an item but a place that sells kitchenware and the like? Sometimes, I wonder where my brain is when it comes to searching for things.

I already had one that was probably a .75 liter capacity, but with my coffee promiscuity demanded more jars. I purchased three 1 liter capacity Fido jars for an amazing $5 apiece. When they arrived, I washed them and dried them and proceeded to put my various coffee beans into them: a Sumatra, a Brazil, and an Africa. I realized that I would have to label them if I wanted to be sure of what I was grinding, so I went online to look for decent labels. In the interim, I just used some masking tape.

Shortly, I had the bright idea of looking for plastic label holders. I could've just bought laser printer label sheets, but I demanded more from myself. I figured that plastic label holders would help me to avoid gunking up the clean glass surface of the jar with the constant replacement of the labels as I go through different beans.

Again, Amazon came up short. Luckily, eBay has all sorts of things for sale. After some digging around, I found some plastic label holders from C-LINE. Being a stickler for the details, I measured out the flat surface area of my Fido jar and came to the conclusion that model #70023 would be just right for my needs. It measures 1 3/4" by 2 3/4", yielding a very large labeling surface. I was most pleased and immediately ordered them from Buy.com.

As soon as the order came in, I found the templates for the #70023 labels and printed out various labels for my coffee in the pleasingly clean and bold typeface of Helvetica.

And now, just look at how handsome those jars look! It seems a little obsessive to hunt down the perfect jar and the perfect label and the perfect font, but I always demand the best. And here, the best only cost me roughly $6 a jar (including the label and all) after shipping and taxes. Six dollars for something that'll essentially last a lifetime is a pittance.

So there you have it folks: this is how you get good looking coffee jars like mine!

P.S. I have concluded that the African Burundi Bwayi beans are too dull for my tastes. While they are indeed very low in acid, it is too muddy for me. Perhaps I will try it as a drip coffee (I have been using the French press).

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While the Sumatra coffees were what I sought out in the beginning of my coffee journey, it has since taken the backseat to the Brazilian coffee I ordered. I've recently concluded that the Brazil Serra Negra is my favorite coffee. To my palate, the Brazil is extremely smooth, with little to no acidity. In the finish, I find that it has some smokey cherry chocolate notes. The beans themselves are nutty and smell just like what I imagine coffee beans would smell like. It's something I can drink day in and day out, hot or warm or even cool.

I still have to take a closer look at the Burundi Bwayi beans that I have. I find that the African beans are a little too flat for me, while not being quite as smooth as the Brazil. I feel that I've experimented with enough single origin coffees for now. I'll of course return to them, but in the mean time I am going to focus on the roast of the bean. I'll probably end up trying an Italian roast from Starbucks, considering that I have easy access to such beans and won't have to wait for it in the mail. I hear that the Italian roast yields a very sweet cup of coffee.

As usual, I couple my coffee with writing. I have finally finished three (very short) chapters, clocking in at close to 7,000 words. It isn't much, but I'm making progress and getting into the meat of the story. The truth of the matter is that most of the story has been outlined in my screenplay. The real difficulty lies in fleshing it out. For a writer, a novel is a far more precise endeavor than is a screenplay. Writing an entire novel is a whole 'nother beast compared to the anemic screenplay. My screenplay, had I completed it, would've probably been close to 20,000 words, and that's including all of the markup, not just the content. My goal for the novel is 74,000 words or so, more than three times the writing.

Why 74,000 words you ask? Catcher in the Rye was around 74,000 words. That means I haven't even covered a tenth of my novel. Of course 74,000 is more or less arbitrary: I am not going to stretch my novel any longer than it needs to be, and if it is shorter, so be it. I'm wondering if I need to make my chapters a little longer. It seems contrived to write my novel around chapter lengths though. But really, I should worry about that sort of thing after my entire first draft is complete.

I wonder how many cups of coffee I will have consumed by the time I finish my novel.

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Coffee's been my new little hobby. So far I've tried a small handful of different coffee beans. While I had first dipped my toes into home ground coffee with a cheap Cusinart blade grinder and Cafe Excellence beans from Amazon, my first foray into premium coffee beans (and a real premium coffee experience) was launched from my search for the Sumatra Mandheling.

I desired a bean that would yield a cup of coffee that was smooth, strong, and creamy. I knew that I didn't really care for any sort of "brightness" in my coffee. If I wanted bright floral notes, I would have a cup of orange juice. My ideal coffee has a viscous mouth feel with a dark aroma and rich flavor. It's the type of beverage that you would imagine is robust and strong like a good-natured barrel-chested lumberjack would be: a bold and undeniable presence, pleasant yet tough. That's the epitome of real coffee really.

The Sumatra Mandehling seemed to fit the bill. I looked around for the bean, but couldn't really find it. I ended up trying a Sumatra Bodhi Leaf from Klatch Roasting. I enjoyed that batch of beans very much. The low acid and the clean cup along with the hint of vanilla in the aroma (though my palate didn't quite pick up on it in the cup) made for a most pleasing experience. After that batch had finished, I tried some Mexican coffee. This too I enjoyed, though not as much as I did the Sumatra. With the Sumatra, I found that it coupled well with milk. I was disappointed that the Mexican beans didn't.

Most recently, I opened up the Costa Rican beans. Unfortunately, I didn't quite like them. They're too bright and too clean for my tastes. I also didn't appreciate the acidity. That's why I went ahead to purchase some new beans from Our Coffee Barn (apparently a family business). The website could use a lot of work, but I had no issues putting in my order for a pound each of Brazil Serra Negra and Sumatra Mandheling Harimau Tiger. I went for the Sumatra again because of the low acidity and the rich coffee flavor I get out of it, and the Brazil to try its nutty bittersweet flavor.

Today I received my order. I opened up the package and was a little worried that I could smell the strong odor of coffee wafting out of the box. Accustomed to more traditional vacuum-packed bags like those from Klatch Roasting, I thought that perhaps these golden zip bags of coffee from Our Coffee Barn weren't vacuum sealed. Despite my closer inspection, I'm still not sure if they are. I think a couple of bags were improperly sealed since air was in the bag and I was able to squeeze it out of there. Whatever the case, their packaging certainly doesn't inspire confidence in its freshness.

I was a little excited to see which coffee they gave me with my order. Turns out it was actually something I wanted to try! They gave me half a pound of Burundi Bwayi beans. They actually recommended these to me on Twitter when I asked for a full bodied bean, so I was quite pleased to see them in my box. Anyway, I immediately tossed out my cup of tea and brewed up some of the Sumatra Mandheling. After adding a little sugar, I took a slurp and savored it. It was a damned good coffee. I instantly defined it as one of my favorites.

In time, I'll be trying the Brazil and Burundi. But would I purchase from Our Coffee Barn again? I'm not so sure. I don't trust the vacuum seal, so it's unlikely. A shame really, considering that the prices are more reasonable for regular consumption. I feel that Klatch's prices are a little high for me if I were to drink coffee on a daily basis.

In any case, I think I'm going to settle on a daily ritual of a morning cup of coffee and some writing. I need to get into the habit of writing. People have different creative processes. It's said that Jerry Seinfeld can sit down for eight hours and write his comedy like it's a job while other comedians have their bits come to them as they go about their daily routines. Knowing me, I'm more like the latter. But knowing me, I also wouldn't get anything done if that's how I operated. That's why I feel that I need the discipline of ritual to make me stay on track with my writing.

The novel is starting to take shape. But as it does, I also feel myself overreaching, pushing for themes beyond the scope of the novel. The themes aren't congruent with the story arc. The novel spans only one or two brief seasons of the protagonist's life, yet the ideas and themes that come to me are more universal and profound than the events of the story would allow for. That's the difficult part: making it all fit together. I know all too well the feeling of a writer overextending himself and writing about things that are far more important than suits the story and its characters.

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Being a stickler for accuracy and authenticity, I thought I'd take a look at the lyrics for Bristol Stomp, a song by the Dovells that I have been listening to for nearly 1,500 times, almost all in a row. I downloaded a YouTube video of their performance and slowed down the audio to get a better picture of what was actually being said. I also checked it with the lead singer's mouth. For the most part, these lyrics were correct.

There are some versions of the lyrics that say, "when they join in jumping". I slowed down the audio and listened carefully and clearly heard an S sound where the word "in" is. I also didn't really hear much of an "ay" sound in "they". This led me to find that "when the joint is jumping" to be more correct.  Finally, "come on and climb" seems to be a little off.  I watched the video and the lead singer doesn't seem to form his mouth to create any 'm' or 'b' sounds: his lips need to come together for that and his lips don't do that.  This leads me to believe that he said "glide" instead of "climb".  Considering that the lyrics refer to the dance terms "pony" and "twist", I found that "glide" is also apparently a 60's dance.  Yes, "The Climb" is also on there, but like I said, glide seems to make more aural and visual sense.

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For the longest time, I've been trying to wrap my head around the idea of writing an entire novel instead of just a screenplay. My decision was based on the desire to have full control over my artistic expression. A film is the result of a collaboration of many people. A novel, on the other hand, is a creative work that is crafted entirely by the author.

Writing a screenplay is more about telling a story and writing visual cues to help the director express the nuances and subtleties of your story. For me, writing a screenplay goes a lot faster than writing a novel because the screenplay is essentially a blueprint. It's not meant to be a well-defined reading experience because it's going to be translated to the screen.

Writing a novel is a much bigger undertaking. Every single detail must be noted and defined by the writer. Not only that, you have literary expression to deal with. You must develop your voice, your style as a writer. You have to make the decision to write in third person or first person. There are a lot more things to deal with when you're writing a novel.

My writing experience has been in screenplays so far. I've finished two of them and was working on a third one. I never sent them out into the world because I knew they weren't ready yet. But even so, it was good practice. On a good day, I could write about 30 to 35 pages (roughly half an hour's worth of screen time) in four hours.

Today, I finally started work on the novel. Previously, I had kept writing and rewriting the first three pages, trying to find my voice. After doing some thinking and experimenting, I finally got enough confidence to move forward with my work. It took me around two and a half hours to write 1,500 words. In thirty pages of screenplay, I had written 6,400 words. That's 1,600 words in an hour. Essentially, I work twice as fast on a screenplay than I do on a novel.

I'm sure the work will pick up though. It's just a matter of getting used to writing in novel format and coming up with literary devices to show what I want the reader to see, as well as getting accustomed to other literary conventions. It sure is an exciting time though.

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I'm on a quest to reverse engineer this Latin roast pork that I picked up at my school's cafeteria. The dish depicted is actually a little on the dry side, but the last time I had it it was outstanding. There are green peppers and some other kind of vegetable in there, perhaps leeks. The recipes I looked at all had vinegar in it, and in retrospect that is what lent the pork it's tart flavor. But it's far more complicated than my amateur palette can discern, so I will have to rely on recognition after the fact.

The rice is colored, and it has red kidney beans and diced carrots in it. I assume that it was cooked with some sort of sofrito. As for how authentic this stuff is, that's questionable. It is, after all, cafeteria food. Even so, it's at the very least inspired by Latin flavor. I think garlic, dried oregano, cumin, and vinegar is the order of the day. I'm guessing that the green peppers and leeks (or scallions) are stewed and broken down similar to what happens in sofrito.

Photos taken by me. Images under Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike Creative Commons license.

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I think it's time for me to get another suit. I only have my one bespoke one. It's black, made of super 140's wool. It's not exactly summer weight. We're getingt closer to the summer, and I am pained that I don't have a suit appropriate for the season. Funds have dried up for now, but I don't imagine it'll be long until I can afford another suit if I am so properly motivated.

I'm thinking I'll get a nice light gray suit with a fabric and lapel style as seen on Tom Cruise in the movie Collateral. Not that I'm trying to rip off Michael Mann's fashion sense (he does have a penchant for dressing his characters in gray suits though). I intend to wear it as depicted: gray suit with white shirt, no tie (hey, it's the summer time), but with the waistcoat. The suit in the movie appears to be one with two buttons, double vents, a notch lapel, and besom pockets, with a single button on the cuffs.

Though I'll keep most of said features (including besom pockets), I don't prefer the single button on the cuff. De rigueur on the number of buttons on the cuff would seem to be four, but I think I'll go with three for a less cluttered and cleaner look considering that the material is a light gray. As for the shirts I'll be ordering, I'll get a white one and a very light blue one. They'll be very light and soft fabrics, none of that stiff stuff that gives a formal impression. The collars on the shirts will be wide spread, more on the short side as I intend to mostly wear them without a tie. Taller collars, especially stiff ones, impart a more formal look that wouldn't be congruent for the more relaxed look I'm looking for. As for cuffs on the shirts...I think I'll have to go with a rounded corner convertible cuff for the white shirt and an angle cut on the blue. Plackets? Not on the white one, but perhaps on the blue one.

Most important though is the selection of the fabric. That's not something I can conjure up in my imagination, but it absolutely must be light and breathable. I have no clue what the pattern is on the fabric of that suit, but it's got those subtle lines that I like.

After this second suit, I wonder what I'd get next. I'm thinking a man's got to have maybe three or four suits, if not five: one for every day of the work week. I mean, you don't go about buying it all in one go: these are garments that you collect. They make up your personal collection. Bespoke clothing should last you ages if you take good care of it. So maybe a suit a year for the next couple of years.

I think a a plain black one would be a good staple: I've got these striped ties that don't really work well with my current suit (it has thin herringbone stripes) as it just ends up looking way too busy for my tastes. Then I could get a navy blue one. That makes it four. Oh well, perhaps that's all I'll need.

On another note, I think it's a shame to see so many awful suits walking around Midtown Manhattan. I recognize that some folks may not be able to afford a bespoke suit (to be honest, if I can afford one, I can't imagine a full-time office worker with an annual salary having trouble getting one). But really, getting an off-the-peg suit altered isn't an arduous task. It's such a shame that so many people see the suit as a mere uniform of the corporate world. Men should take pride in their appearance. Even a sanitation worker's jumpsuit can be worn with dignity and pride (not that I look down on them, but their uniform serves as a good example due to its utilitarian nature and to the fact that it will inevitably become soiled). Just look at Hannibal Lecter.

Having a neat and sharp appearance is not about necessarily about fashion. Fashion is about making statements and serves as a way for one to announce one's identity, to signal to the world the culture to which they subscribe and the tribe they belong to. Quite often, being fashionable means having the money to procure such fashion. But simply taking care of one's appearance is, to me, immediately noticeable and is much appreciated, far more appreciated than hip fashion trends. A man can look very respectable even in a $200 suit and a $50 pair of shoes. It's only a matter of taking the care to look so. And men should make that effort more often.

Seeing that it is now hot, men on their lunch breaks stop wearing their suit jackets. I sigh deeply each time I see a man whose shirt is all puffy and bunched up around the waist, the wrinkles in plain view. It only takes a second to tuck your shirt in properly and to hike up your pants. You can also fight this puffiness by pushing the excess fabric to the back if you can't afford to purchase better fitting shirts. I personally much prefer the waistcoat as it serves many purposes. For one, it breaks up the width of my torso and chest. Secondly, you don't have to deal with the puffy waist because the waistcoat covers it up. Finally, it serves a utilitarian purpose: to add very functional and useful pockets. I find that having my iPhone in the waist pocket is incredibly intuitive, not to mention fashionable as it does not ruin the drape or lines of my trousers the way it would if I kept it in my pants pockets.

Now, off to invent a scheme to get some fast money...

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Today, I went to Dramatics NYC in hopes of finding a slightly cheaper and much closer alternative to my existing hair stylist. I will not be returning.

I have styled my hair in a very specific fashion. I slick it back. The entire style only works if you see the long sleek lines streaking along the sides of my head. The top is very precisely sculpted. Think Sylar when he had his hair slicked back.

I went into Dramatics NYC and got put down for the next appointment. This gave me some time to catch up on reading My Estonia. When I returned, I told my hairstylist my very precise instructions: thin on the sides, but keep it so that it's slicked back; keep it thick on top (since the top of my head is rather flat), I like to have volume so that I can slick the hair upwards to create those vertical lines.

I am normally not so forceful and demanding. I usually just assume that these people know what they're doing and so I let them work with minimal direction. But because of past experiences, I learned to assert myself and to be quite clear what my vision was.

The stylist took out some buzzers and this is usually the sign of an idiot. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. What a fool I was. In the past, every time they took out those goddamned buzzers they ruined my haircut. I should've stopped him right there.

What part of "keep it slicked back" didn't this guy understand? If you're looking for long lines of hair, you need long strands of hair. It's not a difficult concept. I just wanted him to thin out the sides a little. That means having at the sides of my hair with a pair of scissors and doing some precision cutting, not buzzing away the bottom of it you gigantic dolt.

By the end of the haircut, I knew that it was a mistake. I tried to explain to him what exactly it was that I wanted done. He has the audacity to try to tell me that it looks better the way he cut it. I would have none of it. Without getting angry or overtly dissatisfied, I told him that this was not what I wanted. He insisted that there was no way to achieve what I wanted. How then do you explain how my hair was styled before you touched it? What an insolent fool.

I would not berate the self-righteous nincompoop though, not until I got home and determined beyond a doubt that my haircut was not salvageable. But as soon as I got home, I ran to the bathroom and rinsed out my hair, dried it, and slapped some of the thicker pomade I rarely use (it looks too greasy). The result?

It didn't look that terrible. But he certainly knew how to ruin a perfectly good (albeit slightly overgrown) haircut. I basically just wanted everything thinned out, but he went and screwed around with the whole damn thing. The bottom edges of the side of my hair used to be beautiful, long strands of dark hair that swept backwards. Now they were choppy little stubs of cactus-like thorns, a disgusting pomade trap that ruined the sleek look I was accustomed to. Luckily he didn't butcher the top part of my hair.

Next time I go to a new stylist, this is going to be my speech to him: Take a look at this hair. I want it to look just like this when you're done with it. You see how the sides slick back? The way the top slicks back? Keep it like that. If it doesn't look like this when you're through with it, I'm not paying for this haircut.

In retrospect, I should've expressed my dissatisfaction. It was $30, which is $10 cheaper than what I'm used to, but when you think about it it's still not exactly chump change. And even if it was, it's the principle of the matter.

Why is it that hair stylists always manage to believe that they know precisely what looks best on you? Why is it that they can never seem to take direction? Where are the good ones, the ones who can help me achieve my creative vision? I've had $80 haircuts, $30 haircuts, and $10 haircuts. No matter the price range, they are often inconsistent and unable to take direction. Do I need to get onto a Hollywood movie set to get my hair done the way I want?

Lesson of the day: change isn't good. I knew this for all my life, and now it's a lesson I'll have to suffer through for another month. I am definitely getting my previous hair stylist's phone number...

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3. Fonzi and hair product Happy Days 4x12 INT. ARTHUR’S DRIVE-IN ADRIANNA You’re fascinating. Tell me about yourself. FONZI There’s not much to tell. I’m the best mechanic in a large Mid-Western city. ADRIANNA Well,...

It was a brisk and sunny afternoon in January when I was waiting for my brother to finish his appointment with a new hairstylist. I had time to burn, but the streets of New York City looked uncomfortable and unwelcoming. Looking around, I didn't see much in the way of entertainment. I browsed the corner Starbucks and felt the temptation to shoplift a coffee scoop from the clearance shelf: it would've been an extremely simple matter of dropping it into my shopping bag, the action covered by the winter coat draped over the same arm that was holding said bag. I decided that I was above such petty theft and left the store empty handed after deciding that I didn't need to purchase any more coffee beans.

About a block away, a dark red awning caught my eye: the word PSYCHIC, fashioned in a very typical sans serif font, was plastered across it in white. I was intrigued and walked across the street towards it. I took a long look at my watch. It would be at least another half hour before my brother would be finished with his haircut. I turned my head left, then right: there were no book stores or quiet coffee shops, no venues that would keep me occupied without costing much. It occurred to me that perhaps there would be something a little farther away. I walked past the psychic's awning, glancing inside without seeing much. Looking ahead, I saw that there were mostly large residential high rises. So much for finding a quick shot of entertainment, I thought to myself.

I turned back around in hopes that there would be something in the other direction. As I walked past the psychic, I slowed down to a halt. I cast my eyes at the space under the awning. Set at the bottom of some very short steps, the glass door beckoned me. The intrigue of going to a psychic drew me towards it. My curiosity compelled me to take action, and I walked right up to the door.

Words like "psychic" and "spiritual healer" were stenciled in red against the glass. I gently tugged at the door, but it did not open. With bright daylight against my back, I peered in through the chipped letters and glimpsed nothing but a brownish red carpet and a couple of steps. I stepped back and noticed a door bell, so I rang it.

A slim young lady with olive skin came to the door and let me in. Without so much as a glance or a smile, she turned, and I followed her to a little rickety card table. She sat down and faced me. Her face told me she was probably from Trinidad. Her smallish hand waved me an offer to sit in the sad little white lawn chair, the rental type that show up at cheap summer weddings. I plopped down in the seat, put my shopping bag between my legs, and draped the my coat across my lap.

"So, what do you want today?" she asked in an incredibly neutral tone. Apparently, this pretty young girl was a psychic. I realized that I didn't know exactly what I wanted her to do. It felt ever so slightly awkward, not unlike a college freshman's very first visit to a prostitute in a seedy motel located in a shady part of town.

I cracked a crooked grin and explained that I actually have never been to a psychic before and don't know what she had to offer. As she broke down her pricing scheme, I realized that I was actually sitting in the foyer of some old building. The orange-brown floral pattern wallpaper was aged and worn, the wooden banister of the stairs leading up to what were presumably apartments looked as though it's core were rotting ever so slightly. The table we were seated at was positioned under an old wall sconce shaped like a tulip that had opened up a little too much. I wondered how much rent she had to pay the landlord to run her little game here.

After she was done reciting the prices for her services, and after I had finished asking clarifying questions, I opted for a palm reading. It would be the most interesting $20 I ever spent.

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