Interlude

The wind is blowing so hard. It shakes my door. Gill Scott-Heron is playing. The door bangs out of beat with the songs. The room is illuminated with a grey-white light. With the aide of lenses I can see textures I once could not. Through the floor I can hear my roommates laughing. The T.V is on too. A gust of wind blows the scent of spring in my room. Hopefully it will cover the smell of cigarettes and clean my room. 2:43. What an unproductive day. Time to silk-screen.