Pass the Noodles

There are seven of us at the table. We are all keyed into our screens. Everyone looks exhausted. This is the public library.

You see, it's impossible to spend all day in your house trying to write a book. I feel claustrophobic, I feel trapped in, and most of all, I feel like a loser. Outside I hear people opening front doors, making morning phone calls, and starting their cars up.

It gets to me as I sit in my living room in sweats and a hoodie, computer on lap, feeling about as low-down as anything.

There is a solution, of course. It means getting up and doing my writing elsewhere for God's sake. The minute I get outside and onto my bike, a feeling of optimism sinks in. Look at me, off in the world, out to see and do things.

There's a problem. As I cannot afford to do my writing at a coffee shop, I go to a library. Problem with libraries is everyone is there. Everyone with a laptop clusters around the few banks of outlets like moths to flames and so here I sit, packed in with everyone else. Most of them are playing online games. Most of them haven't showered. The guy on my left is eating noodles under the table in between laughing at Youtube videos. The guy across from me is punching his mouse repeatedly as he saves Middle Earth and every now and again he pauses to push greasy hair back into his Nascar hat. None of them have shaved. All of them smell. And they're all male, in their early to late thirties.

Wait a second...

Here I am, my scruff getting longer by the day, my wallet lighter than the air around me, and last time I checked, I was a male.

Can you pass the noodles please?