Killing people in Second Cup

I can't even guess at how many people I've killed at the Second Cup coffee shop. It's a lot. Quick guess, maybe a hundred.

In my books, or course.

That's where I write. Sitting at the high tables in the back because the little tables have a lip on their base that if you stand on it, your coffee is everywhere. Who would design something like that? It's a coffee shop. Full cups of steaming hot five dollar coffee are the norm. Don't put tables in that tip.


Anyway, there I sit, at my tall table, sipping a Vanilla Bean latte, no fat/skim milk, extra hot, killing people. This whole no fat/skim milk thing is not my idea. It's my doctor's. Something about bad cholesterol and weighing more than I used to. Not fair, everyone weighs more than they used to. Think not? How much did you weigh when you were born? Point made.

Today I painted a very unappealing picture of the killer in my latest book, currently untitled. This guy is awful. No one is going to like him, and if anyone does, they need professional help. More on that in later blogs.

I think that writers are lucky. If we get frustrated, we kill someone. Normal people have to suffer road rage and actually duke it out with someone at a red light. If I didn't have a release I'd probably get my ass kicked at least once a week by those guys with tiny dicks who drive monster Dodge Ram trucks. Why do you need such a large truck. Oh, see two sentences ago for the answer.

Can you imagine if you had told someone ten years ago that you'd be paying five dollars for a coffee? Watch out for the crazy guy. Or sixty dollars to fill your gas tank? You've gotta love gas stations that don't accept $50 bills. Hello, the gas I just put in my car cost $60. That's a 50 plus a 10.

So, here's my morning. Up and let out my five dogs. (I'll tell you later how I ended up with five dogs). Head out for the Second Cup, stop at my local gas station to rid myself of enough money to feed an African family for a year, arrive at the Second Cup and plop down a fiver for a coffee. At least its Canadian money, not American. Out comes the laptop, and zing, someone dies.

I love this stuff.

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