Here he was at his favourite bookstore with a coffee shop in it. A cup of chai tea latte, his laptop covered with stickers and music in his ears. Nothing fancy, just a struggling artist.
Nothing out of the ordinary, really, another writer with utterly unimpressive work, which he rightly labels as “absolute bullocks keeping me at peace”. A cliche of a sort, one would say – aren’t all untalented struggling writers seeking for a coffee shop to sit in all day long and write about things nobody wants to read about?
He is right. He knows it. He has been doing this for years. And apart from his immediate family, a few close friends and on average 23.7 people read his short stories or essays. He will never write a whole book, a novel pretty much like Salinger’s Catcher In The Rye. And that’s ok.
