I'm waiting for a slow little old lady to leave my office. The sun is shining in the garden, but only briefly, before the skyscraper across the street obscures it. A couple of people are circling the fountain, arguing. Or maybe they're acting, practicing - they suddenly smile and laugh.
I told a friend of mine that I had to pause for laughs at my reading last week and she seems surprised. "You write things that are funny?"
"It's a secret," I said. (Actually, I didn't. I don't remember what I said, so I made it up. That's why it's "Creative" non-fiction. Or, "It's composed" as one of my professors would say.) Most of the stuff I write is somewhere between pathos and humor. I can't seem to separate the two.
Anyway, my reading ended up being a kind of performance - something between an essay and a monologue and maybe a comedy routine. My boss seemed to like it, and his friend who came with him said "like all good comedy, it was deadly serious."