-- Log in : 6:38 pm --
I was a ordinary guy.
Said by me. No one else. Me. The creator of a simple statement. The author of my thought. The loser that couldn't find a simple way to open the beginning of a book.
Yep. This is me.
Hope your proud that you could open the front of this book jack-ass. Because it's a bumpy ride through.
...
Tord stopped writing there. He hadn't really felt the certain 'Preg' (( Google it folks ;0 ))
Of inspiration for years. More like ever.
He glanced around his quiet loft , the light edged pink red sheets on his bed were riddled with papers and spare crumbs from working/browsing in the fluffy mass. The floor was a gorgeous dark brown hard wood maple.
His attention turned to the fan up on the high ceiling. It was turning so fast the only thing you could solidly make out was the cloudy white light bulb that lit up the room in the evening. Letting out a soft hum as it rotated for god knows how fast.
To the right of the desk he often worked at , was the four insanely large windows that lead up straight to the ceiling , showing the bustling city of New York below him. Closing up his 'Homework' , the slightly audible rolling of his wheely chair meant that he was leaving his comfortable sun kissed loft. Going down the spiral stairs into his rather aesthetically white and red kitchen and living room. Shuffling his way over to the kitchen , Tord hadn't even bothered that day to gel up his hair. Multiple stray hairs flimped down upon his forehead.
The large spare white blanket hid the honey toasted strawberry blond horns the Norwegian beheld. Opening the fridge , He would have leaned down and rummaged through the assorted foods he kept.
Taking out a Oikos and spoon Tord nudged the door shut with his hip. Then again the slight dragging of his blanket and his feet on the floor he flopped down on the white leather couch , a leg dangling over the side arm of the cold fabric. Enjoying licking the yogurt off the top of the container he then delicately skimmed the surface of the Greek themed food and shoved the spoon into his mouth.
Sighing aloud in the large and echoing room.
Tord lived alone in his lusciously attractive home. He had everything he wanted and needed? Now he just needed to wait .
Tord had already reached the bottom of his Oikos cup. The spoon making a light scraping sound against the plastic as it had nothing to dish out of the container.
" . . . "
Tossing the container on the small glass coffee table in front of him. The man sighed , pulling the comforter over his head like a old woman would have with a scarf.
" . . . "
Glaring lightly out the window that showcased a lone pigeon. Tord exhaled loudly.
" Another boring day ."
Leaving his ' Shawl ' on the couch. Walking across the cool hard wood the plain sound of Tord's feet making it over to his small Keurig back in the kitchen. He had one of the fridges with the actual coffee maker custom made into it. He needed it as a slight boost-- Twice ... possibly three times to get the past the dull days. That came across too often.
Cross that out and make it about six shots of pure espresso. Tord waited for his precious Arabica bean drink to brew. As he glanced back out the window of the kitchen , gazing into the streets of moving cars and the gentle sounds of police sirens as they littered the city.
The pain and beauty of noise, as well as pollution in a strange concrete jungle of fashion industry and restaurants across the main streets of New York.
Whirrr~
The sound of the machine awoke him from his car like day dreaming. As he took his drink and delicately rose it under his nose to take the bitter and steamy smell of the brew. Then blowing gently as the small whisp of heat glided from its surface. Tord guided the drink to his lips for a long sip -- as he was interrupted with a light yet disruptive knocking from the glossy red recently painted front door.
" Who could that be? "
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FUCK MY LIFE. I CANT write :,))
