

Open Mic Night At The WelkOr Why Prepubescent Girls Should Stay Away From Harlequin NovelsOpen Mic Night At The Welk
So I'm sitting at The Welk, a little coffee shop not far from my apartment, drinking my coffee and reading a book I've read one thousand times before. Its pages are yellowed and torn, the penciled notes I've made in the margins fading to distant memories of thoughts I had once upon a time.
Vivian, the bubble-headed waitress, bounces to my table and refills my cup, which destroys the delicate balance of sugar and cream I worked so hard to attain. She's reduced my beverage to a swirling mocha mass of Irish cream and hazelnut decaf swill. I smile a silent