Felt like telling this story, because i was living in it yesterday:
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Yesterday, in a small well lit cafe on Haight street, which I’ve been hiding in for years, I was reading a book about how to write stories, “On Writing” by Eudora Welty, when a short story happened around me. Outside, they were shooting a film.

The Japanese girl beside me told me she had just gotten out of serious surgery this morning in which she almost died, and felt today was her first day on earth. That this was her first supper. So she was savoring each bite, as if it were her first.

Then a famous comedian walked in and everyone lit up. He came over to her, and told a joke, then returned on set outside. She preceded to tell me, over great mediteranean crepes, that she had designed a kimono, showing me endless beautiful photos on her phone of her crimson kimonos, that ust before her surgery, she got to show her design to Michael Khor’s in a private viewing. This is the second day in a row, i’m meeting famous people who like and see me, she said.

That it was her mother’s dream that her daughter would design traditional Kimono’s in a new style, and that someone would notice and help her. It happened, and then she almost died this morning. This was the first day of the rest of her life. This was not her last supper, but her first, she said.

Gabriel my friend who runs the restaurant, and is always watching over us all, came over and said this girl had a special light in her, and that he could see it even from across the counter, glowing.

Steve Carell then returns and starts making jokes with everyone as we eat. Gabriel’s wife gets him to do a hilarious video for one of their daughters, which he happily complies with, and nails it.

Then two homeless friends, I’ve known for years, come in telling stories of hanging out with Robin Williams, and they quote his whole monologue verbatim. The famous comedian chimes in adding some flare to the collaboration. For a moment, we were all one, and all stars dead and alive, equally shining in our specific stories, and broadcasting our gifts into the banquet of the ongoing improvisation of life.

After it died down, i went back to my book and read: “The writer themselves, studies how to write about life really well-that is with Love and Grace for each character-while actually simultaneously learning to live well, to be a character in the novel they are in. Writing develops empathy with our humanness and ultimately, if its great writing, we end in the tone of Love towards everyone, including ourselves.”

Nice little short story of confluence and convergence yesterday—sometimes we are both writing and in the endless story, even as it is happening. Some days are short stories!