An outlet, sticky battlefront of crumbs. 

I’ve been staring into space for — 

Sorry, what? No, absolutely.

No, it’s fine, no ones sitting—

No problem. 

Have I read a single word? Or,

Just silently bored holes into the negative spaces that make up the letters

On the page-

Screen-

Screen-page.

I think the later, re: the letters. Hah.

My phone tempts me with an anxious cry. 

Oooh, an email? Who from?

Ah. 

What would happen if I hit reply anyway, @donotreply

Would I be in deep shit?

With your email service?

Let’s find out. 

Or not.

We could just

Not. 

But what a waste of an hour, a whole wasted hour of our increasingly limited — no, don’t go there.

Dangerous existentialism : coffee ratio. 

I push my glasses up my face to further chafe the bridge of my nose.

Nose bridge.

Bridge of noses.

Forty-seven minutes gone. 

No use starting something now. 

Yes, what a waste of an hour.

Were you really even an hour?

Or just a dream?

An oxymoron of rest, abandoning me right as I’ve settled in. 

Leaving me with nothing but neck pain,

a throbbing hunk of meat flesh inside a cavernous skull,

And one fewer hours to waste.