#* closed starters.

— 'i would follow you to the ends of the earth with only mild complaining, truly, but. deadlines.' he gestures to the papers scattered across the kitchen counter and almost knocks his coffee mug clean off the granite. almost. as in elbow missed causing a catastrophe by less than an inch almost. this is what pulling an all-nighter when you're eleven years out from school does to you in your thirties, turns you all jittery and shit. (the ADHD might also have something to do with that, besides the caffeine. that's not the point.) 'they need this passage turned in by the weekend and i've been hunched over discarding translations for one line for at least three hours. missing text in old documents is a bitch and a half, do i deserve back pain at this age?' he doesn't, considering he's still in his early thirties, but tell that to the office chair he's dragged out into the open. no lumbar support whatsoever. embarrassing. 'plane ticket's a tempting thought.' it is. gorgeous location too, one he hasn't gotten stamped on his passport yet. and good seats in business class (unlike said office chair), God bless his spine. alas. 'the direct deposit into my account's just a little more tempting.' lead us not into the temptation of ditching imminent work for sun and sand when rent's due at the end of the month and we live in the West Side of Manhattan, but deliver us from evil, he thinks, or however that part from the Lord's Prayer went. he can almost feel his mother's phantom cuff over the head. so much good the choir do you in Evensong, boy, for you to have mouth so, just the way she would say it. the little steups under her breath at the end, to not disturb the rest of the worshippers, always sounding like she was this side of a smile. 'can i get a rain check on that trip or would it cost you too much to rebook?' // @evcrlasting