fifty-six : higher
Light burns into paper. Chemical fumes hang in the air, a dark curtain. The fan hums, the drier clicks, spitting out sheet after sheet after sheet. A teenage girl with earphones in sits cross-legged on the floor beside it, her head in a cloud as she picks up the dried prints. She blows smoke onto the surface of one picture and watches it spread out like a rolling fog before putting it to one side. She reaches into the pocket of her skirt and turns up the volume. Someone knocks on the door. She leans back against the cupboard and closes her eyes.
In the hall kids wait, watching the red light over the door. IN USE.
i listened to the doors. waited for words to happen. my left foot fell asleep, i heard a car slow at the corner, i yawned, stared at the ceiling and felt fairly listless. then for a while i wondered if it was possible to feel listful. i looked it up in the dictionary, but it doesn’t appear to be a real word. eventually i remembered i was supposed to be writing something, and this happened.
i need a drink, but i’m on my own in my room in the middle of a weeknight and don’t want to go down that path. borderline alcoholism will have to wait until the weekend.
