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Nestled, curled, wrapped up in a sort of cocoon around the desk and the computer with the heater and lamp casting their warmth and light out into the late-autumn-ness he thought about things.  He wasn’t doing anything.  Just flailing around the internet, from one thing to the next and back to the first; tumblr, interview, youtube, facebook, wikipedia, netflix, website, website, website; round and round it went.  It was his day off.  He had nowhere to be.  And so few other demands on his attention.  Luxurious.  The sound of cars passing back and forth on the wet road, snatches of passing conversations, phone calls, footsteps.  Occasional rain.  A tapping at the door.  A vague inclination to socialise quickly rejected.  He looked up at Mary with her arms spread welcoming supplicants into her loving embrace.  She seemed so serene.  She asked nothing and gave nothing.  What was she whispering to him?  Nothing.  He pulled his childhood duvet close and examined the piney green of his freshly-painted nails.  The music stopped.  A shrill of Psycho strings and a wrong number.




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