My desk is never cluttered, but really, it always is.
The metallic slab with rusty, crusty drawers, but I refuse to get rid of it because the damned thing is a part of me.
You become your places, your constant habitats, the wilds you roam on a day-to-day basis.
If I didn’t love writing so much, I’d scrap the iron obsolete monolith and buy a vintage arcade Arkanoid machine.
(Photo taken by me.)