The Work of a Depressed Man Gingerly, he set about running his fingers over the keys, the soft tapping growing in rhythm as he gathered speed. There was an underlining melody to the process, a gentle music that was only created by him, heard by him, and known by him, a glistening light in an otherwise depressing atmosphere. Yet, even that started to pervert, change, become as altered as everything else.More Like This
The new computer was stained, a heavy smudge from a messing fingerprint lingering on the bottom right corner, a streak running over the top, where someone had run their fingers across the screen for whatever reason, with dust covering almost all but the keyboard. There were the telltale signs of varies drinks and snacks consumed and let about on the keyboard, and around it, littering the tabletop with weeks’ or months’ or maybe even years’ worth of leftovers, scattered and ignored.
The table was marked by more than j