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A haiku about the moment of connection — or disconnection.

Writer’s block, terror, and the strange paralysis of not being able to write about something awesome — even when a woman’s mouth hangs in the balance.

The bartender gets a name — his choice, not mine.

I don’t celebrate, but I wish you well.

Things took a weird turn tonight.

I love me them short women.

Shared experience? A boy can hope, can’t he?

Was she trying to pick me up? If so, I completely blew it.

Sometimes I wonder what I’m supposed to do.