Sitting inside a room, three walls made of rock; the third made of glass, and I can't escape the desire to throw myself through any one of them. W.A.S.P.'s Wild Child continues circulating its melody through my brain and I'm uninterested in relieving myself of it as I am a big fan of their work.
The clicking keyboard keys and a heavy sigh are the only noises I have made for the past four hours. The motor of the a.c. unit hums behind me while the rushing air crashes throug the vents.
Outside - - rain. Sweet purity.
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