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