I stare into the sink, brushing my teeth, contemplating, for the briefest of moments, blowing off my writing, just for tonight. The sink drains slowly, and fills up with water and the foam from my mouth as I brush, spit, rinse, repeat.
It's not that nothing happened today. It's just, right now, none of it seems compelling enough, none of it seems to matter, just one more day closer to the grave, but still I brush, keeping my teeth in my head, and get ready to write.
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