This is where I sit and do my work, my office. The view ahead a catalog of sustenance. Coffee maker. Oven. Refrigerator. And I sit here on a bar stool desperately in need of a healthy dose of WD-40 to keep it from making an infernal squeaking noise every time I even breathe. Either that or one day I may throw it out the window. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. As if the tinnitis in my left ear wasn’t enough drive me mad.
52 Weeks of Us