I am writing this quick dispatch from my morning writing spot in the few stolen moments between paragraphs, a mere hour until I have to run in for a meeting at work. This is the coffee chain downtown that has seen me write truly hundreds of pages in the past couple of years (if you count the ghostwriting, and I will, because it sounds more dramatic). It hit me, upon coming in this morning and hearing them call out, “Iced or hot today, Nova?” that, after this week, I won’t be coming here in the mornings anymore. I won’t be sitting at this table, my favorite one near the little door that never opens. I won’t be one of the regulars—look, there’s another one now; we just shared a silent nod. This place isn’t convenient to my new commute; I will have to find somewhere else to go. And other places are louder, and do not have so many available outlets. (And the mochas are just not as good.)

I’m a bit choked up.

So, starting June 4, there will be an empty corner convenient to the 1 train. To the writer who takes my place: treat it well. Write a page for me.