He who sits on the brown velvet armchair doesn’t move. Continues staring at his screen.
‘I was short-listed in the FFF competition! Out of more than two hundred entries.’
The body on the brown velvet armchair remains inert, eyes still stare at the screen. His chest rises and falls; I detect breathing.
‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’
‘Oh! Yes, thanks.’ For a microsecond eyes dart in my direction, then return to the screen.
I sigh. Make the coffee.