In this place, in a colorful armchair hugging my knees, carefully sitting crosslegged.
Perfectly put, with a sweatered, pacing man waiting for a webpage to load or for a phone call.
Many composition notebooks. A muscled leather coat that's been touched by many hands and years secured over the shoulders of the tall chair. He's standing now. Tapping a boot-toe on the ground. Over and over. Backing up, going forward; bending at the knee. Leaning over, pulling on the leather. Tapping heels on the ground, stretching calves.
Ever the pull of the computer screen,
pulling his eyes.
Then, he is gone.
I can't find a good enough video of this song, but go listen to it.
The Commander Thinks Aloud by The Long Winters
Panera coffee is awful.
and there was evening and morning.
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