March 6, 2013
Blowing smoke out my bathroom window into the cold March air. Coffee on the sink. The phone is charging in my bedroom--exhausted from frequently responding to its tinkling notifications which let me know there's another word game to be played. Dropping the butt into the toilet, rinsing the sink of ash, I close the window and return to the main room. Excitement brews with the prospect of an interview tomorrow, and in the meantime an imprecise sketch of a street downtown sits beside the laptop--my connection to the future. Where music is played, resumes submitted, fleeting correspondence had.