Tom Irwin (
extendedmetaphor) wrote2012-11-17 12:51 pm
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It was late but Irwin was still awake, sprawled on the bed in his room, idly reading his novel about Thomas Cromwell, thinking about sleep. There was a cigarette between his lips, as yet unlit. He found himself absorbed.
Maybe he'd get up and shower in a minute...
He had no other plans, after all.
Maybe he'd get up and shower in a minute...
He had no other plans, after all.