It was a warm autumn eve as the sun slowly set. Although cloudless and calm, it was still not dark enough to see the twinkling stars. Ensconced in his chair by the window, he stared. He stared at the blank screen, and stared. If only this was a Stairmaster he would be in better shape.
“I have nothing, there’s nothing. I’m stuck – stuck – stuck.”
“It happens, you’ll get through it” quipped Red as she plunked down on the couch. “I’m having some friends come over later tonight, I hope it doesn’t bother you.”
“It’s not like they’re going to interrupt my writing? Is it?”, as he bit down on the cigarette holder. “As long as it’s not that imbecilic pirate.”
“No it’s my reading group. I don’t believe he is the type interested in 20th century literature.” Red said as she un-plunked herself and proceeded straightening the room.
“And which book is it?”, he asked still staring at the screen, incompetently pretending interest.
“The Stranger, by Albert Camus,” Red replied while setting out the dishes and inspecting the wine glasses for bits of lint and water spots.
“Ah, 20th century pretentious existential angst.”
Red coyly looked towards him saying, “Feel free to join us, if you wish.”
“I will continue my solitary Sisyphean task; if I need an interruption, I will join your absurd parlay regarding the termination of an Algerian on the sands of the Mediterranean.”, eyes still fixed on the screen.
“Spoiler alert! Now you’ve ruined it by giving away the ending.”, Red quipped sardonically.
“Well then, I guess you should call them and tell them to forget it.”
“I might consider that if they weren’t already here” gleefully saying that she processed towards the door just before the knocking.
‘Suddenly-all hell broke loose!’ he typed onto the screen.
His mind was fogged, nebulous as the mist of a spring morn, waiting for the caffeine sun to burn it off; but this wasn’t morning but a late evening following a sumptuous repast and surplus of wine – re-reading a binding contract he did not recall, while attempting to nosh a dessert that fragmented his consciousness with its overpowering pleasure he could only describe as a mouth orgasms. While pursuing, bits of creamy drool dropped over the document.
“You, wouldn’t have that, that problem if you didn’t eat with that stupid cigarette holder in your mouth.” quipped Red.
“It’s my style.” he drolly stated
Protestations from the cat indicated a desire to exit the premises.
Red, “I’m going to let the cat out.”
“Yes, yes, I see that in the contract here, and here, and here! I do believe that was not what I was thinking of when I stated that ‘you should put the pussy out at night.’ In fact, as I recall, I don’t own a cat, or more precisely – no cat owns me.”
“It was open to interpretation.”