|Yes, this seems to fit the bill for these days.|
My idea of dress and demeanour probably stemmed from
badly-remembered snippets of Murder She Wrote.
The upshot of the story, after a tortuous 4,000 words of intensely written densely packed verbiage was that the protagonist stepped through the library doors whilst considering the nature of the doors themselves. It ended with his replacement being shown into the office in much the same way as the story had opened with the protagonist being shown the office, with the obvious hanging question. Or, at least, I thought it was obvious. And clever. And cyclical. It was, of course, mostly shite.
|About the right age.|
Still looks better than I.
But I do tend to drive one-handed a lot, which is about
right. Oh, and I probably need to unplug the car now.
Did I mention that the EV is automatic?
My EV is automatic.
This concept. What if it were a University library room and linked to historical periods and inhabiting someone from that time for a, uh, time? What if it gender-flipped? Of course it gender-flips. A lot of research though, a lot. It whiled away a bit of the drive and a walk out to the shops this evening though, diverting enough to ameliorate the coffee a bit and play into the playing of Wardruna in my brain. In short, like a lot of what I think about, it masked the real world and the very pressing concerns of my actual reality for a short time in pointless ever-decreasing circles of headache-inducing tightness. A chorus of pointless shenanigans.