Scene 2

He just brought his clean clothes up from the laundry room but is waylaid by an idea for a song or story or something. He doesn’t know what, but takes his notebook out of his back-left pocket and starts jotting down words and images that he thinks might sound good.

He decides to send them to a friend, a writer who is familiar with his frustrations. He toys with the idea of sending them to a few more people- all artists or at least friends who are curious and interested in the way people’s minds work and how they function while bogged down with heavy thoughts that have no origin.

He goes to his MacBook to type out what he wrote across a few small pages. The words and images seem much less substantial against a vast white background sentineled by a pulsing vertical line. He thinks that this format has perhaps sapped them of their meaning, imagines the flashing line is a thin man in a robe that approaches everything cynically.

He reads from the notebook again. Yes, they are worth recording. Should he still send them to anyone? Yes. More people in fact. Everyone.

He looks on the floor behind him and remembers the laundry. Still in a messy pile except for two shirts which he folded before he started writing. He wonders if he can get away with leaving it out until morning.

It is 2:19 am.

Finished typing, he shuts down the MacBook and turns his chair back to the laundry.