Stressy Messy


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.)

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