Too much of this Cabernet, won’t finish a manuscript. Neither will toying with these infernal social media “connections.” As I reconnect with my character, I realize she deserves truly inscribed attention. She deserves better than me. So why did she me select?
Not permitting his imagination to turn in her cosmos, Mike refocused on the pages, now atop the carpet, by his right foot. His publication, on the other desk, also aright. He looked at a picture he took with her a few days ago. The only one in his fragile possession. Broke.
Mike turned off the movie. He sparked the chilled instrumentals that brought him to his wine lounge. He sank into the fabric of his chair. Then his eyes met it, her sketchbook, on couch, the armrest, partially open, a session slightly shown. He wanted to look closer, roam through her efforts like a child excessively inquisitive. Couldn’t. No matter how much Cab he had.