Brooding writer Amir Hafizi cuts a dramatic silhouette.
The wind is in my hair, as I sit on top of a... Plastic awning?
BUMP!
Goddamn cheap material bullshit!
I walk past a massage parlour. Waved 'hi' to some girls I know.
I sit down again at my Cafe of Solitude.
My meeting is at 9.30pm. A couple of friends might join me for a short while before that. But I doubt it.
What do writers do, anyway? Well, we write, right? Beats fighting crime any day.
