by Arran James
I sit at my desk. I am listening to music: right now ‘The Leanover’ by Life Without Buildings lolls with that stuttering vocal breaking in and out of melody, in and out of sense. My head is empty of concerns or miseries. I have a vaguely pleasant sense of hunger. Down in the car park outside my bedroom window a kid is hitting a ball off the walls with his hockey stick; a pointless metronomy, a soothing repetition. The only thoughts I have lean in to tomorrow. Cinema and drinks. And later, in an excited hue, we will undress once more. My every moment is now anticipation. I let this consciousness drift.