The loft smelled a lot like a nap. Was it his loft, or was it his futon? No, it was something else. It smelled comfortable; it lingered with a pleasant smell. Something delicious. He sat up, pajamas donned, some god-forsaken sun shrouded by early clouds outside his bay window. On his way to the bathroom, he remembered he was active host as he recognized the young lady in his spare futon. The taste of her cabbage soup suddenly filled his mouth and lingered in the air. He stepped carefully until he was entrenched in the safety of his bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror dredged only the familiar taste of a delicious soup. Pissing in the toilet provoked nothing but an instinct to stay quiet. Then, where he would have just brushed his teeth and got on his his day, instead he opted to quietly head back to bed. Not to fall back asleep and forget that the time was passing, but to wait, and see if he might be of some assistance. He felt a sort of hypnosis in those hours, wavering between reality and sleep, unsure which was which. youtu.be/1qrK6IxWu2Q
Posted on: Wed, 21 Jan 2015 06:08:36 +0000
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