So tonight, as is our long-standing tradition on Sundaynights of a Con, the guys of Sofawolf Press took some of their authors out to dinner, self included. We eat well, we hoist the thank-god-that’s-over toast, we tell myriad embarassing stories, and generally I wind up signing books later in the evening.

Tonight we did the usual dinner, swell bunch of people–seven of us–and had a blast. Then we called a cab–two cabs, a stretch cab, anything–to take us home.

And we waited.

And we waited.

And we waited.

Apparently Pittsburgh does not believe in cabs on Sunday.

An hour and a half later, after we’d been stood up by two separate cab companies, we started walking the long two miles home.

One of the cabs finally passed us, and didn’t stop. (The company recieved a phone call about it about thirty seconds later. Cel phones provide so much instant gratification…) After awhile, the next cab passed us, and Carlota ran after it, waving (and jiggling) frantically. It stopped. There was much rejoicing. Except…there were seven of us…and only one cab…


You can indeed fit seven people in a cab, if some of them are skinny, the cab driver is willing, and they’re all on good terms.

“You try to take your authors out to a nice dinner…” moaned Jeff, buried somewhere in the backseat.

“Look on the bright side,” I said, wedged halfway up the opposite door, “we’ll never ever forget it.”

“Thank god nobody’s in a fursuit…”

I can only assume that our emergence looked like a clown car, but we got home anyway.

And now…to rest.

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