Some of us have been going out on Monday nights after our creative writing class to The Cup at Hotel Congress. We have sopa de lima and giant club sandwiches and roasted garlic and glasses of wine and we talk about writing and about things that have nothing to do with writing and about things that might someday have to do with writing. We also sometimes sit next to bands like Blind Melon, if the somewhat manic man with the ponytail was to be believed ("You know the band Blind Melon? That's them right there. I'm serious! That's Blind Melon! So send them lots of hugs and kisses.")
Earlier that evening, we'd critiqued as a class a brilliant story written by one of our Cup group about a girl who gets raped at a crazy band party, so we declined to send them hugs and kisses, for which they are probably grateful. But they did seem to attract a lot of attention, so I went home and Googled them and now I wish I had sent them hugs and kisses. Or at least made eye contact.