Went downtown to-day. Had a sandwich. It's strange how brain-dead many of the people seem down there. You'd think that doing whatever job it is that allows them to afford living in that area--or even to commute to that area--would require some smarts. No such. Took a billion years for them to make my sandwich, mostly because they were wandering around helplessly behind the counter, speaking to me only to continually ask me to repeat what sandwich I'd ordered. But for some reason, I knew it would be an exceptionally good sandwich. And it was.
I also wrote for quite a while at a Starbucks. I've started another Leyui and Gaemyietta story. This one feels like it distinctly owes a lot to Sherlock Holmes, which doesn't bother me at all, considering how much Sherlock Holmes owes to Edgar Allan Poe.
And now I feel like drawing . . .