Typing Exercise

I wanted to see what happens when I write without editing. No backspace. No corrections. Just forward motion through thought.

The rules were simple: set a timer for fifteen minutes, pick a subject, and type. Whatever comes out stays. The errors become artifacts of process.

Subject: The first bar I ever walked into alone.

I was twenty-three and terrified. The bar was in a basement somewhere in the East Village, and the stairs down felt like descending into something I wasn't ready for. Teh bartender looked at me like she knew exactly hwat I was doing there—trying to become someone who wasn't afraid. I ordered a whiskey because that's what people in movies ordered. It tasted like burning and I pretended to like it.

Now I understand: the burning was the point. You don't go to bars for the taste. You go for the transformation.