Block

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Block

Hands poised over the keyboards with fingertips at the ready, the man sighed. Fingers drumming against the type-touch ridges on the J key in quick succession, he looked upwards at the ceiling for inspiration. Finding none, he tuned his ear towards the muffled noise of a tv news channel propagating from the floor, through his neighbor's ceiling. Unable to discern the actual words, his attention continued its roaming through the room around him.

Running his hand across his face, the low stubble of 3 day old growth roughly greeted his palm on its way to rub the sleep from his eye. Turning his head, he stared at the hangings on the wall. Despite the number of pictures, awards, and silly jokes, there was nothing for him there. The inspiration refusing to come. Closing his eyes, he tried to think of a topic, any topic, a stray thought to write against, or a phrase to play on.

Drumming his fingers again, he navigated through a few folders on his compute. Vacation images, comics, jokes, landscapes, and backgrounds all flickered by him as he dully tapped the arrow keys. Titles of shows and plot points of each spun through his head unbehested. Yet none brought inspiration. Shifting in his seat, he opened a news feed. Looking for headlines, topics, politicians, celebrities, gossip, and opinions, anything that would bring a single strand of life into his hands. Something to pull the bored, apathetic, and half closed eye lids up. Something to awaken his curiousity.

He looked away, pulling at the bridge of his nose and massaging his temple his eyes closed. Lifting the computer off of his lap and setting it gently onto the desk besides him, he gathered the blanket over his shoulders, rolled towards the wall, and attempted to go back to sleep.

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