Sitting here now, listening to the traffic. We don't really have a rush hour in this city, it's like every forty-five minutes here is a rush hour.
I took a few steps earlier, hobbling to the bathroom, and my bandages fell right down to my ankle. I stood there stupid for a moment staring at the naked scar, all bruised and covered in dried blood. Then I had to re-adjust the bandages, only now they don't seem to want to stay in place on the knee. I don't think I would have been more shocked then if I had been caught totally nude.
Mr. Scratchy, it's been a slower then usual, quiet day here.
I'm imagining you checking in, reading this before going to the gym, maybe after supper. Dressed in shorts, a green tee shirt, iPod blasting out a mix of music. Maybe you're having a day of wanting to listen to stuff from when you were a teenager. I imagine you pushing up those wire rimmed glasses I think you wear, scratching at your right shoulder. I think you have dark eyes... chocolate brown eyes and I can picture you removing your glasses rubbing your hands over those chocolate brown eyes.
I think you have a large canvas there beside you, with a half finished painting on it. Some reason I want to say it's of a building, with a lake and trees in the Fall. A painting filled with reds and yellows and oranges.
Anyways, Mr. Scratchy, as always, I hope I brought a small smile to your day.
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