The rain came back, all sudden like. It's not as if we weren't warned; I just don't pay any attention these fucking things. I just pour another cup of coffee, light another cigarette, and stare blankly at the pile of work I have to do. The blank pages & empty canvasses that need the life of ink & paint violently burst upon them, with neither their consent, nor any concern for their will.
A week ago it was so hot that I couldn't walk to the 7-11 without soaking my shirt, and now I'm watching rivulets, formed by the percussive sky-spit, drool down my window.
I have work to do. What am I doing here?
Go to Food Is Not Love, because I said so.
