Myopic Pessimism.

It is beautiful outside and I have been my happy-go-lucky self all day, but, now, I hate to tell you this but I am in a sour mood. Some loudmouth decided to sit next to me with his mother, who has a high-pitched voice, and some other chump. The loudmouth is ordering extravagant cocktails requiring extra work and then talking, talking, the whole time. Mr. Personality.

I think he is a model for romance novel covers.

He is gone. This has been a very long twenty minutes.

A boy asked his father, “Dad, was that guy trying to sell you something?”

The man said, “No son, that is just his personality.”

I looked up. “That’s what I just wrote,” I said.

Life imitates art. Yesterday was like this, too. Every day, really. This is New Orleans. I am glad that loudmouth is finally gone. My disposition is once again as sunny as Freret Street.

Outside looks like an Edward Hopper painting.

Now, to tell you about the rest of my day…