Write! with Peter Hering

If I’d learned Russian, then I’d be able to read all the comments being posted to my blog.

There are no echoes; only copycats.

I was sitting in a café today (like I do on most days) and was listening to an older woman speaking to a friend. They were sitting at the next table, had finished their lattes and were glowingly talking about – what I assumed – was the one woman’s grandchild.

“He’s so cute, the way he sits at the table and eats with me,” she said, smiling. “And, yesterday, because it was so hot, I didn’t make him wear his little shirt.”

The other woman nodded and smiled. And checked her watch.

“Imagine,” she added, after pausing for a moment, “he doesn’t even mind lying on the cold tile floor in the bathroom. I suppose it’s cooler in there.”

“How old is Max [name changed to protect his identity] now?” the other woman asked.

“He’ll be eight next week. We’re having a little doggy party for him.”

I’m sorry, that’s a disturbing conversation. Keep the faith.

If you wait for a bus, you’ll miss it.

Isn’t it depressing when you discover that your life isn’t about “what normally happens”?