Mark Rushford

There’s a place near Seabright Beach in Santa Cruz called Java Junction. Currently I’m camped here while writing, and waiting for Melissa, my former boss, to stop by so we can catch up.

Kind of a homey place, likable staff, colorful Santa Cruzians shuffling in and out with their hipster wear and crunchy hair (well, some of them). A couple of old men are huddled at a nearby table trying with all their might to work out a crossword puzzle. Even the flies get in on the action every now and then.

I miss doing this. I like coming to coffee shops and writing, but I so rarely get the chance. I should make the time to do it more often, really. This place is a little out of the way compared to wear we live, but I’m sure I can find a place just as good in Aptos for weekends when I just don’t feel like being cooped up in my office.

I want to keep ordering coffees, but I feel a little like peeing, and I don’t want to pack up and lose my seat by going up to the bathroom. I’m set up at a sweet table and I don’t really want to lose it. Dilemma!

So they say the fires may be as much as 15% contained, but the planes are about to stop their flyovers due to darkness The winds have been steadily decreasing for a while now, which is definitely good, but nerves persist.

Tya and I are making mental lists of stuff we want to rush-pack and take with us if we get evacuated.

Needless to say, this is not altogether the best feeling I’ve ever felt.