a new direction

Walking home from dinner last night, after imbibing some rakı, through the winding cobblestone streets, the cafes and restaurants spilling out onto the streets, a thin layer of cigarette smoke hanging in the still night air:

Shazz: "You should stop writing about people who talk all the time, stuff where nothing ever happens. You should write about a guy like me!"

We pass a band playing in front of a small crowd; the bass player and drummer pound out a slow, rhythmic beat, and as we walk by a woman with big hair starts blowing on a sax-a-ma-phone.

Shazz: "Oh, I forgot. I have to join a band and become the lead singer."

Me: "Right. I'll write a story about this suit who quits his job, moves to Istanbul to start his own company, and then quits that to form a merengue band. And then his father disowns him."