All the events described herein are kind of true.
1. Coeruleum Meets the Devil
“What pitiful terror seizes you, superman!”
Coeruleum was sitting in a bar with a small notebook and a pint glass of amber ale. It was not a very good bar, though also not bad, seeing as they only had amber ale and a bunch of American beer in pint glasses and cocktails, and charged for the pool tables, so all there was to do was write in a notebook, talk to strangers, and feel angsty. A throng of recent nursing school graduates discussed people’s birthdays and various recent events by the pool table between the barstools and the ale brewing tanks. A young man and someone who appeared to be an older brother or cousin were celebrating a 21st birthday trying various whiskey cocktails in lowball glasses. A swarthy man who looked like Fareed Zakaria approached Coeruleum.
“Are you a writer?” he said.
“Sort of, I guess,” replied Coeruleum.
“Only writers take notes like that! I’m a journalist from Washington, D.C. You’re… a writer, a poet! Or something like that!” He paused. “If you don’t publish, it attracts negative energy!”
“The fact that I don’t publish is why I don’t call myself a writer!”