serendipity takes a hand

(the feeling of writing a book)

Summer in the city on one of the hottest days of the hottest year—an ice-cream van on the corner of every square, the London pavements an endless parade of iced coffees and pretty sundresses. In Fitzrovia, cafe tables spill out onto the street, plane trees shading the corners, but I sit in a dark, airless room: empty except for a microphone, an iPad, a…