Fleetwood Mac's "Oh Well" keeps a mellow background while my right index finger scratches back and forth along the top of my plastic mouse. it's afternoon and my head is fuzzy and starting to ache a bit, begging me for caffeine. Several half-done or pending projects lie at arm's length and finally i pick one up like a mother reluctantly picks up a whining child. I lick my dry lips and saunter to the copy machine.
his mood picks up a bit as Mick Jagger swaggers through "Jumpin' Jack Flash." in fact it's a gas.
he just wants to be in the same room as she is. maybe occasionally slide his hand into her hair.