A draft I never finished... One night at Panera

The pause and the deep breath, in front of the blank page -- I’m tempted to linger there. But I must begin now or never. And ignore the worry that people around me will take a peek and read my clumsy words. Why are the pauses easier? The wistful looks out the window, the listening and thinking of meandering thoughts. Pushing the keys and dealing with this sneaky keyboard is tricky, and not just because of the missing KKKKKKK cover, or the tendency of my curser to jump up two lines every five words. It takes focus and command, for the words in my brain to travel and reach my fingertips, then somehow come up onscreen before I forget their ending.  And I’m slightly cold, and wanting fresh hot eggs. Oh, well. Nothing to do but press on.

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