Feels the same

Everything feels the same, a bit slow, a bit detached, a bit convoluted. One moment you are pushing forwards and feel the wind behind you, pushing you onwards, and sometimes it just feels like your feet are so totally glued onto the floor, and your lead legs are more like old abandoned tree stumps in a clearing. The bittersweet San Pellegrino Aranciata stimulates both positively and negatively, different areas of his mouth not knowing whether he likes it or vice versa. His glasses which riding on the top of his head threaten to fall down as he takes the last sips onto the bottom of the soda can. He manages to balance them back onto that transitory position then finally presses them onto his head and ears. The absurd comedy of the office’s Friday afternoon routines begins to take place amidst screams of the loose leave receptionist as she welcomes in the cleaning lady, or some friends of the staff with loud conversations that overcome the monotonous nonsensical murmur of the professional staff. A week has passed and nothing new has been accomplished, ACD 9.23.16