1605

Sun languidly steps through clouds.  Rain in the last few minutes, which they didn’t expect.  But it decided to land, anyway.  It didn’t care what the predictions were, are, were.  It just threw itself at us.  The rain’s been speaking to me all day, with how the little water bulbs hang from the trellis wires, and how the puddles at the end of each row just refuse to go anywhere.  Immune to evaporation, I guess.  I’m immune to slowing.  I can’t slow, as I’ve been saying all day.

Alone in this corner of the office with the two wine bottles I bought atop the desk, my music, and annoying laptop.  Write on, write all the way till 5.  That will be its own electric victory of sorts.  So quiet in here, but I write through that as well.  Offices are so strange, don’t you think?  So odd but alluring with their articles and corners, desks and files, sounds and filthy fridges…

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