When he writes he stabs the page. He knows
that he’s in a fight against this monolith
of paper, so he uses every dirty trick at his
disposal, knowing this is for more than bragging
rights. Locked in, shoulders hunched as his body
bites the nicotine out of half a cigarette left from last night.
The water grows still, but he’s got the scent of blood.
Photo by ed_needs_a_bicycle on Flickr
