That’s the schedule they sent me, and I think it’s ridiculous.’ ‘At least it’s a job.’ ‘That’s that I keep telling myself.’ ‘Ho...’d you find out about it anyway?’ ‘My family used to go apple picking every year until my dad died, you know.’ I nod, remembering the first time we met. Second year of college, and we both got into the elite Ann Arbour, Michigan Writers Collective. Two hours into a conversation about finding our elusive muses and the searing pain that is writers’ block, she got a. "Just take one of the white pieces of paper, beside you, and pick it up with that. Then put it into the small empty plate, on the other side of you."The meal progressed quietly. Both to my ears, and other senses. Each was trying to concentrate on the correct method of getting the food from plate, to mouth, without being the brunt of the other's ridicule."Would you girls like a little more pasta? There is a lot, and it tastes much better, the first time it's heated." I got two sets of. More

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