Tuesday, September 20, 2011

What is it I'm going to eat? he asked himself as he stood, with his heavy weight over the computer. He was anticipating another anchor. He wanted to sit back down, work was the only way he could keep himself away. His face was flush with anxiety, an overwhelming urge to feast on it. "No!" renouncing his own will. The basket was on the table. The bottles were encased in the box below the sink. I don't need this anymore. He looked at his hands, they were red. "I'm!"....dead fucking sober and talking to myself. There was a light on in the kitchen, he hadn't noticed. It was early when he started to work, through the day he hadn't noticed the light was left on. "I didn't move." He just sat there, fat, "Not lazy" sure. He was used to reading all day. "I don't move!"   

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