Here with a desktop telephone, a glass of water, two cellphones, a journal, a laptop, headphones and a pencil- I have everything I need to keep me here, but nothing at all.

Something is too still, too stagnant.

Until the touch of raindrops on flesh, I have forgotten that I have a window behind me. It started pouring without warning and I leave my wooden table, feet clambering all over the floor, to shut the windows shut the windows. And to let in the rain. Back at the table with the objects laid out, strangely senile and oddly smiling, I realize I have now nothing but something in all, something small in a seed.

Sunset Way in late 2009, twilight