He did not care. He skipped steps as if he had found a shortcut up the stairs. He slammed his door shut. The seat beckoned for him, so he did not deprive it of its desires.
He delicately lifted up the top of the computer. His hands sunk into the keyboard. He became frozen, as if the screen were Medusa.
The night wore on, yet his eyes and conscience remained adhered to the display.
The disharmony of the crows’ morning caws could not even pry him free.