Tuesday 6 May 2014

Writing spaces

She was sitting on a bench, hair in the wind, red fingers gripping her pen, bent on her notebook. It was bitterly cold, but she didn't seem to mind. She was on the upper deck, among roaming children, a very large Indian family eating their lunch, couples holding hands, old people holding onto the railing and the breeze building up. She didn't seem to mind. It only took an hour to cross over to the island, and the seats on the ferry were not very comfortable. She didn't seem to mind.

He had tried the library. It was too quiet, too hush hush... He had tried a café. No good either : too many distractions, too much movements and too much noise. He was always anxious when someone passed by, had the strange sensation that everybody was trying to pore over him and have a look at his notes. Disturbing. Today, he was at home. The children were playing nicely in the living room. The oven was on, roasting vegetables and a chicken in the pan : he didn't have to worry about dinner. He had one hour and a half in front of him. the kitchen table was full of crumbs, headphones, books, empty cups and dirty spoon... It would have to wait ! He felt ready. A sip of water, and on he started.


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