I still can’t believe this. I walked down to my neighbor Ric‘s last night for some late night Nine-ball and financial discussion. I’ve only known him a few weeks. At roughly 1AM, after seventeen games, we headed out to the Grotto Cave Bar in the backyard.
Ric stood behind the bar, about to whip up some kamikazes, and then suddenly stopped. In a wave of inspiration, he decided to make pineapple martinis instead. My jaw dropped. This was his completely his call, not mine. I can’t even remember the last time I had pineapple juice.
The reason this trips me out so hard will be evident to readers of Chapter L, which goes live tonight. Last night, just a few hours before this moment, I’d written a scene in Under Angles that involves pineapple juice at around 1AM. I don’t think I would’ve believed what happened last night if it weren’t captured on video.
It all gets even weirder, but I’ll save those details for another one-on-one conversation, preferably over cocktails that involve pineapple juice at 1AM.
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