No Computer=Library

Set under the monitor is a yellow piece of paper nicely folded in half with a message of adoration intended for my eyes.

And from the corner of my eye, I can see the lady in front of me browse an adoption web site; I am a peeping rose.

The rain outside has silenced itself and classical music, Chopin I believe, has replaced the moonsoon lullaby.

My day has already exasperated and now I wait for tomorrow.

Tomorrow I start a new job.
And no longer pretend to be able to write while surrounded by strangers and with a time limit ticking at the top of the page.
Sebatical fantical.