We suck the evening dry. Hirsuit and careless of posture. Choosing songs from an impossibly non-linear music catalogue.
“What’s this? Come on, there’s three seconds, you must know this!”
Talking in giggles and punchlines. Continuing ironic disdain.
Red wine first. Then whisky. Cheap cheap whisky. Enlarging our throats and slapping them with dirty fire.
Noise discussion. Theories, preferences. Nodding.
Typewriter makes thought corner. Still communicable, but working.
Magazines become useful. Not for reading.
Books closed but open conversations.
And we talk and we talk and we listen.
1 comment:
the fan whirred slowly, gathering every possible bit of dust that the heavy summer afternoon air could filter up
my body was drenched with sweat and the thin polyester bedsheets didnt really help much in the sweltering heat
the thought of how it all seems different and how we are willing to compromise and take on much more when we are travelling were goin through my head,resting on the pillow which to satisfy my sense of cleanliness was covered with a clean white sheet.
the idea of comfort and happiness just completely changes once you are out there, what matters then is your soul. its a different mind space ...it does not get affected by annoying people or tons of money or airconditioning or foul adours...it just a state of being...its freedom, its peace and its true joy!!!!
(it is not as good as yours but just felt like writing this when i read what u had written, i dont know why...)
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