This has zero relevance to my job, or NewYork, or traveling, or food.
One time I was in a drug store in Queens.
The kind of drug store that has every kind of natural and organic food selection, and also has random stuff that makes me wonder if it's part drug store, part yard sale for the employees.
I wandered down the office supply aisle. With the intent of buying some new pens.
And for whatever reason, I turned my back to the piles of children's notebooks.
And there, in a pile forgotten since 1994, I found something that I've been waiting for my whole life without ever realizing it:
People won't take you seriously as a writer until you pull out one of these.