Fragments I

I’m not Kafka, but I still have unfinished snippets:

“Curtains. So still, so full of soft, diffused sunlight, they could be an art student’s darkroom wet dream. But she usually keeps the windows open, so this is strange. Timesaver traffic update in the other room makes her ears lonely for something a little closer. But then the buzz and fuzz of the box gets irritating, even at a distance. It seems to get louder in a room she had thought silent. She ponders going to turn it off, annoyed at whoever has it on. The reception gets worse second by second. She closers her eyes and draws up against the armrest, willing herself to ignore the samey quality of the voices – their practiced tones just for radio. If you get up, she promises herself, you can have frozen yogurt, or maybe even an ice cream sandwich. Yeah.”

“The sky was only half-full of rain, to look at it. Indecisive stuff, country weather. It had stopped and started twice already. But what she wanted – what would really get her rocks off, so to speak, – was a thunderstorm over the lake – danger right off the gallery. “

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