The room is lit only by a 5 year old Ikea desk lamp made from translucent black plastic and my Powerbook screen. Every so often, a text message from Sarah makes my Sidekick chirp in faux 8-bit harmony. I flip it open, fire off a response and go back to farting around on the internet.
I need to find something substantial to do, before the boredom eats away too much of my brain. I could write a post for Preshrunk, but I’m suffering from some fierce writers block.
Somebody save me, please.