The Perfect Day

The clocks stop. For breakfast I write a short story in one sitting. For lunch I have raspberry pancakes, write the first line of something new, fold it into seven sections, and put it away for tomorrow. After lunch I nap—it doesn’t matter how long, the clocks have stopped. (E is there; he’s finished his script.) Then I write the very last chapter of a new book.

Or, to put it simpler: the clocks stop. The perfect day will be the day the clock stops.

5 thoughts on “The Perfect Day

  1. Is it wrong that, given this circumstance in a big city, I would go out on the street and dress people up in other folks’ clothes and the like? I mean, you could give a homeless guy some stockbroker’s wallet- dress the cop up in a dress- draw on people with magicmarker!

  2. A short story AND raspberry pancakes? I don’t know, but toss in a sighting of George Clooney, and that just might have to be the perfect day.

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