I need to get out here again, walk the streets, see the signs, remember what really brought me to lettering in the first place. Inspiration for this new job, some bonus content for my social media. A series of walks, inspired by the city’s best hand-lettered signs. A bit of research and planning, the warmer months coming—it’s something, something to help me get unblocked.

Some of the weight from this morning has lifted as I approach the shop’s front door, as I unlock the two heavy bolts for the old storefront gate, a relic from back when this place was a jewelry repair shop. Inside I leave the lights off for now, the shop’s interior lit enough by the nearly midday sun. Before it’s time to open, I figure I can straighten all the stock, double-check the register, make sure the back room is tidy for meetings the freelance calligraphers and letterers will have here today. Lachelle at noon, Yoshiko at two, David at three thirty. Tomorrow Cecelia will be back, and the distraction of these temporary shifts will be at an end.

But I’ve got a plan now. I wish fleetingly that I had someone else here I felt close enough to call up, to say, Hey, want to go with me on these inspiration walks? But one of the worst outcomes of the distance between Sibby and me is how quickly it revealed the shallowness of so many of my connections here—colleagues and clients, people I like and respect and enjoy, but people who know me only as cheerful, frolicsome Meg, drawing and working with ease, quick with a smile, good for a laugh and some light conversation.

Calling any of them now—when I’m so blocked, when my reckless, ridiculous habit seems determined to make a reappearance—seems, somehow, impossible.

Still, going it alone will maybe be a good reminder. This city is mine, too, whether Sibby’s my roommate or not, whether Sibby’s my friend or not. This city is home.

A flash of white on the worn oak floor catches the edge of my vision as I approach the counter, a scrap of paper someone must’ve dropped, and I reach down to pick it up. I should’ve swept last night, one of the items on the evening closeout list, but I’d been distracted by Reid waiting for our Incredibly Uncomfortable Espresso-Herbal Tea Summit, standing by the door like a statue in my periphery.