—sweatpants, keyboard, black coffee—
Every day, day in and day out, same old same old: nothing. Every room’s a waiting room. Every room holds its breath, waiting. Wait; what? No. Every room is just a room, waiting, breathless. He does his best to hold on. He holds his breath. He hopes. He moves from room to room. Every room is an empty holding room. All day long he comes up short. He hopes to hold on a little longer. He’s almost out of time.
time to call it quits
—earlier than usual—
~ Day #10 ~