the morning air is soft and heavy as an old blanket, and the gray clouds are puffed and plump as pillows. the trees are still, the muted light soothes. even my coffee tastes milky and warm. buddy snores sprawled across the throw rug, sam curls in the corner of the wing chair under her pink blanket.
Beloved is engrossed in his online game. i think it's called pimp-war. the point of the game is to become number one pimp. i understand the lure of roleplay games, and what i find interesting is that he's working his way up the ladder not by being agressive but by forging alliances within the pimp-world.
cooperation... what a concept. may it flow in any form it can.
and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.