This coffee is delicious. Look at that sunny day, let's go. Last night I told someone a story, a personal tale of ancient heartbreak. It's not a story at all but that is the human impulse, to take a number of associated but discrete events, a mess really, and fashion a narrative out of them. Events occur, time passes, one thing sorta kinda leads to the next thing if you look at it a certain way (and I do). It's child's play. Whenever I dredge up this so-called story of lost love it always changes slightly from telling to telling, depending on which elements at that moment strike me as interesting, or relevant, or illuminating of my present condition, whatever that might mean. This is typical, this desire to mold a shapely past that gives coherence to the present. Two fraudulent but understandable aims. I try not to lie but I don't have to try too hard since there's a lot of real estate between hard facts and outright falsehood.