The pizza box isn't empty. Three slices, gone cold and heavy still lie untouched. They'll probably do for breakfast.
One sprawled out in the next cabin, the other beside me. The sound from their stuffy nostrils pronounced, in the silence of the neon. Something stops me from shaking them awake. Maybe because they look angelic, men gone back to being babies, curled up in a protective shell. I let them be.
Dribbling a crazy love-hate affair, trying not to get burnt, yet keeping it within reach. Some excitement. Do I keep it or does it keep me? He almost believed that I love him. Ha! Well, maybe I do. Or maybe, it's the devil demanding attention again. Another thing I shall let alone for the moment.
The iris touched 30,000 words today, the mind drank them and generated understanding, and so I judged, judged whether they should be read by thousands of people or not. Can I really decide that? Wow!
Sheets of parchment with more dancing words call out to me. They're interesting these words, but somehow, they never end, making them tiresome company.
A semi-stranger. My first personal contact. Brief. No comments. Nothing to comment on yet.
Flashes of the old house, with the mustard sunshine and the silence of a life less modernised. For absurd reasons, childhood always seems quiet. Perhaps the noise in the head grows with age. If so, I wish I go deaf by senility.
The yellow-orange pencil still sits unstolen on the flat wood, staring at me, happy. I like pencils. They're just so.....happy.