Wednesday 30 November 2011

Midnight Seven.

The room is small… six paces wide.

Probably the same long - which makes it square, a yellow and white square, with a splash of green.

It’s two paces from where he stands to the desk.

On the desk there are; a keyboard, computer, printer, two empty mugs, an egg timer, a roll of sticky tape, two wallets, a phone, a live box, a box of slides, a box of notes, a screwdriver, her present, his watch, a pen (ballet dancer), another pen (a flower in a pot), a tin (Barbie pasta shapes) of pens, another pen (cat) – he likes pens – he likes cats too – scissors, a mouse, a letter to her, two stones (real – one from a volcano, one from Brighton), a mushroom (not real – it’s a pencil sharpener/rubber).

And a bottle of Californian Zinfandel wine and a galss.


The bottle is emfty.


The glass has one slug left.

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