I was sitting at the Barnyard Center coffee house in Carmel trying to write. Two women on the other side of the room were talking. They were oblivious to how loud they sounded and how intimate the conversation. I got to hear who they disliked, what school they taught in, their complaints about everything. I resisted the urge to go over and let them know. Everyone in the coffee house could hear them talk. It was difficult to write.