“Books. You’ve heard of Dimension Apart?”
“Yep.” I’m actually trying not to soil my own undergarments. There’s an intestinal tango going on inside me as my nerves feel like they’ve suddenly just been plugged in. D.A published some of my favorite authors: Hammil, Suris, MacDougal. I pretend to drink coffee calmly—my lips barely touching the bitter, lukewarm liquid. I am trying to play it cool. I am trying to convince him I’m woman of the year and not an unaccomplished, illiterate poet. No. No I’m not. I am quite obviously a student who looks out of place amongst the glitterati at Horoscope café with an 8-dollar muffin and coffee combo talking to the Grande publisher of DimensionApart. “I’ve read a few of the books you published.” I offer the statement, knowing full well he doesn’t believe my supreme understatement. D.A is international and everyone has read something they’ve published.
“Many have.” He says. It’s a smug comment, definitely and recognizing that this conversation can only devolve, I opt for an exit.
“I had actually better go Mr. Jamus, it was a pleasure meeting you.” I grab the last of my muffin and pull on my sweater-jacket. Umbrella ready, I give him a stupid little wave. He waves back and returns to his coffee.