I'm here sitting at Starbucks, the one on West Gray with the drive through, yes that's right, I knew you knew the one.

Mia is curled up on my lap watching the too expensive cars of River Oaks wiz past us. I silently criticizing the uneven hand that dominates my scrawl this evening. Sitting here at Starbucks not drinking coffee, not walking through the drive through.

People watch but only politely so. Looking at me, this man, with my purse, my bag full of art supplies, me with the adorable little doggy in my lap, me with a set of drawing pencils on the table next to me, me only rarely looking up from these graphite lines, me not drinking coffee.