Yesterday I wrote about a guy I talked to in the Stanford Coffee House who claimed to be an out-of-work writer. I ended up giving him a little money and wondering if I was suckered. Well, there's more evidence in.
Second, an hour or two later when I came into the coffee house, he was sitting at a table writing on a thick sheaf of papers, presumably a manuscript. Based on a glance at the form (closely spaced lines of longhand arranged into paragraph), it at least looked like one. For me, that's pretty good verification of his story that he's some kind of writer.
I am impressed and surprised that his story checks out at all. Maybe I'm not such an idiot after all.