Diary
20JUL
The train came and went and I stayed. There's something about hotel stationery — the weight of it, the blankness. I wrote nothing important. Just sat with the hum of the city and the strangers passing. Sometimes the quiet is the only thing that's yours.
Mood: Contemplative, still, softly melancholic
07JUL
The parking deck smells like exhaust and rain that never came. I sit with my back against the chain-link and write on hotel stationery — the good kind, the thin cream paper that bleeds if you press too hard. Below, the city is a river of taillights. Above, nothing moves except the grain in the sky. I write: 'I am the still point in the turning world.' Then I cross it out. Too dramatic. I write: 'Tonight I am quiet.' That'll do.
Mood: serene