[Quit classes. Quit jobs. Cash in old savings bonds. Now you have time like warts on your hands. Slowly copy all your friends’ addresses into a new address book.
    Vacuum. Chew cough drops. Keep a folder full of fragments.
    An eyelid darkening sideways.
    World as consipiracy.
    Possible plot? A woman gets on a bus.
    Suppose you threw a love affair and nobody came.

    At home drink a lot of coffee. At Howard Johnson’s order the cole slaw. Consider how it looks like the soggy confetti of a map: where you’ve been, where you’re going—“You Are Here,” says the red star on the back of the menu.
    Occasionally a date with a face blank as a sheet of paper asks you whether writers often become discouraged. Say that sometimes they do and sometimes they do. Say it’s a lot like having polio. “Interesting,” smiles your date, and he looks down at his arm hairs and stars to smooth them, all, always, in the same direction.]

-Lorrie Moore.