Sitting on what is probably the only new item in the room. It’s a pretty nice desk chair. Comfy. Hopefully built to last. The previous desk chair somehow divided itself sometime last month. Possibly at around three in the morning as a medium sized woman tried to perch upon it.
“What, I’m not allowed nice new things?” was all Anthony said when I commented on the shiny and sturdy of it all.
It in no way matches the heavy, dented metal desk. Actually, nothing in here matches if I look too closely. It’s all just Anthony, from the dust on the concrete floor to the cobbled together shelves filled with the things he loves too much to think about selling. Even the second hand love seat, which is where I’m supposed to sit, was his choice of a thing to do for my benefit.
I added the pillows. I do sit there when he’s here. I do realize that this is his office. Why else would I come here to feel safe?
I need to find him a nice old rug for in here.
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