Eight

As I mentioned in an earlier post, it’s an insane week at work. It’s one of those busy times where you don’t feel accomplished at the end of the day. I have a preview that has to be in today, so I decided to escape the newsroom for a few hours and pound it out at a local coffee shop.

I love time in coffee shops, whether it’s with my computer writing a blog post, a book, my iPod and journal or friend, new or old. There is this sense of hope and ability to do anything or go anywhere when I curl up in a booth and shut the world out for a while.

Since I graduated college, coffee shops have seemed to define my existence in any given place. There is Idaho, Brookings and two in Sioux Falls, here and there. And now, Pierre. When I go back to those places, though, they are never as magical as I remember them – the service isn’t great, the environment has lost its luster or the drink isn’t a taste-bud satisfying. Or, more likely, it’s I who have changed and these locals are figments of the past, like journal writings or photographs. In a way, that’s reassuring because it indicates that I’m growing and evolving.

Either way, I have a baseball preview to write and deadlines do not care about nostalgia.

À tout à l’heure.

P.S. Eight days with the daily Instagram – one week!

 

 

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