She stared at shadows cast on the light by the lampshade. The wavy patterns on the walls were poetic. But she hardly knew how to describe them in poetry...sea of light...waves shimmering through shadows...dark waters...the wall as a liquid canvas...??? Phew! It was quite a task, considering the fact that she took almost twenty minutes to come up with these lines, the meanings of which, she knew not. She just thought they were 'poetic'.
She likes her workstation. The blast of the AC at 16 degrees, the blast of her stereo playing Katie Melua, fumes on her either side-either from her ashtray or from the cannabis incense stick. Intoxication is in the air it seems.
She is a teetotaller.
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