Less than two years ago, I swapped the creature comforts of the corporate world for a gamble on a career in the music business. As evidenced by my ample physical proportions, I don’t yet qualify as a ‘starving artist’ — but the sacrifices are real, and they do feel stultifying at times. Tonight my hombre D. took me out for billiards and a hibachi dinner with the express purpose of begging me to keep the faith. D. is himself an epic natural-born storyteller who in his own words has “sold his soul to The Man” for years rather than risk failure as a writer. His sense of regret is palpable. He vows to personally beat me down if I stray from my creative calling. Luckily for me, ‘The Man’ compensates D. pretty well for his soul, because our filet mignon was grilled to tender perfection.

(Sent from my mobile phone.)