The tapestries on the see-through yellow curtains quivered listlessly in the wind, the form twisted into shadow and light. Waves of heat rippled on the cracked wooden floor. The window cast a dying shadow that snaked its way to a dry, red brick heath in the afternoon sun. Through warped the floor boards were recently polished a dull brown. A red sofa huddled in one corner, and in the center of the large room nearing the back wall, were a very businesslike office desk and a black leather chair. The paper lies underneath the ashtray a few letters scrawled on the front- words barely legible in the darkening room. A trace of cologne mingled in the air with stale cigar smoke. The edges of the paper rose and fell gentle in the light breeze, alongside a pen on the fringe of the oak-colored desk. The sound of groaning pierced the quiet and a shadow swayed, constant like the tireless flicker of a candle on white washed walls. The ceiling was high. A small iron fixture abandoned by its small ornate chandelier fastened itself to a thick line of green nylon. The pen had begun to leak. And other than the deadweight hanging from the abandoned iron hook there was a very soft pit patter and fall of dismal driblets of ink.

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