drone and wrap

Slow walking in the door, gentle even, but by some force of will. Air enveloping rather than splashing, like a kid walking into class late.

Organized as though light doesn't destroy. Things left in their place of use- Tools next to project, goop by the sink, paper at body radius center of the room. The couch is against the wall economically. It's hideously hot and dry and there is a bottle of water on the counter like a watering can. Solid American plastic. The bass light on a stereo, also on that counter, is beating steadily. There is no music playing in the room.

The couch has three cushions, and two arms, and the pillows are organized as though for sleeping rather than sitting upright. No one is sleeping on this couch, that's obvious. The coat comes off and hangs in one movement but the shirt requires a process and once folded gets neatly tossed onto a cushion nearest the window. Cushions covered with material without body, a vacant sort of full occupancy, and he's facing them and shaking his head as though in disagreement- a lovely, diffuse passive aggressive gesture.

Reaching over to the counter without looking up, without being able to look away from the window, he fumbles on the countertop and takes hold of something there. Taking it to his side, the black cable in his hand sweeps everything resting there onto the floor. The water bottle, guzzling, and a potted plant. A set of keys, likely what he'd been looking for, and a small notebook for lists. This isn't the game of pulling a cloth out from under candlesticks- blunt force rather than friction has shifted everything out of place into a mess. Not looking suprised at either the resistance or it's effects, he gently places the cable back down, again. He doesn't even register satisfaction at destruction. Picks up the keys. Looks at them for the briefest amount of time, then picks the coat on the nearest cushion and goes back out the door. There is no way of knowing if he locks it behind him, but there is a sense that he should but doesn't. The identity that walked out the door wouldn't bother.