Eduardo Mueses

August 11th was a huge day in my life. I was at Think Coffee on Fourth Avenue. I had just finished, at age 27, my very first novel. I told the barista, who gave me a high five. This was nice of him, given that this probably happens at said coffee shop way more often than we’d like to think. I had been working on it for two-and-a-half years, showing it to no one, periodically reading it aloud to only two people?—?my partner and my ex.