Not all at the same time, you understand. But now I'm
writing. Going to write a story, then I imagine I'll open another
shop. But I'm more interested in *you*, Mimi, and your play. Why
half-finished?"
She shrugged and combed her hair back with her fingers. Her hair was
brown and thick and curly, down to her shoulders. Alan adored curly
hair. He'd had a clerk at the comics shop with curly hair just like
hers, an earnest and bright young thing who drew her own comics in the
back room on her breaks, using the receiving table as a drawing
board. She'd never made much of a go of it as an artist, but she did end
up publishing a popular annual anthology of underground comics that had
captured the interest of the *New Yorker* the year before. "I just ran
out of inspiration," Mimi said, tugging at her hair.
"Well, there you are. Time to get inspired again. Stop by any time and
we'll talk about it, all right?"
"If I get back to it, you'll be the first to know."
"Tremendous!" he said. "I just know it'll be fantastic. Now, who plays
the guitar?"
"Krishna," Link said. "I noodle a bit, but he's really good."
"He sure is," Alan said. "He was in fine form last night, about three
a.m.!" He chuckled pointedly.
There was an awkward silence. Alan slurped down his second
coffee. "Whoops!" he said. "I believe I need to impose on you for the
use of your facilities?"
"What?" Natalie and Link said simultaneously.
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