Entry tags:

shelf-reading, u.n.c.l.e.

Iulia and I were walking down the street after lunch, and she was listening to me rabbit on about something that I am, for the record, definitely not writing. We talked terminology, I described what would probably be the concluding major plot moment, and she said, "Wow. He's going to be really fucked up."

And I said (um, loudly, the way I do, and definitely audible to the guy and girl walking in front of us unless by some chance they were both deaf), "He was grown in a vat by the KGB. I think 'fucked up' is pretty much built in."

So, yeah.

In the elevator on the way back up to work, I was riding along with a girl I'm slightly acquainted with from my last library job, and a friend of hers. I stood in one corner of the very tiny elevator and stared at the folded beer cap I'd been playing with since fishing it out of my pocket, and she, obviously resuming a conversation, said, "And then right below that were K through Z! And. No!"

And I just had to smile, because. Yes.