I have my earbuds in, nearly in a flow state.
It’s either due to Latte’s soft-spoken voice lulling me into a half-awake, dreamlike space, or the illusion of typing pure streams of consciousness, where grammar and punctuation cease to exist to correct course. Either way, I can barely recall what I had this morning let alone the past week and half in short text.
In struts d, who I’d assumed gone to the restroom, but returned from the convenience store with two cans of beer—the trendy ones that foam up when clutched between the warmth of both palms. It’s also 9pm and t had just left.
TSSSSK POP Slurps the cloud-like froth off the top
d: Have you heard of Ballmer’s Peak?
I was there before the drinking, struggling to piece together a coherent sentence with less than two transitions.