Yes, Nonfiction

Inspired by X, a "partner in crime" during the olden days when we all yearned to be writers and thus wore jackets with suede elbow patches, and gypsy skirts (me--still wear them), and carried cigarettes (brown ones from Europe) in a sweater pocket (me) and a tequila bottle in a back pocket (him).  We were funny and ambitious and sweet, and in love with writing; I was wild and broken; he was just wild, with his share of scars too, and we were in the wrong place at the right time, always.  And we didn't have laptops or Facebook, or the Internet, or smartphones to gaze at all day and tune the world out; we had typewriters and Wite-Out and the things we yearned for.  And that is the subject of  my new essay, if not...dear God...another book of nonfiction.  Sure, it's a story that's been told a million times, but it's all in the telling, you know.