/lit/ - Literature

>>17339187
A great big leather chair in a place like this. It's gently raining outside and you can hear your neighbour, Clyde, shepherding his sheep across the way. Satie, Debussy, and Bach are playing quietly in the corner. You have a fireplace- not roaring, but there's a healthy flame. It's only about two o'clock so you have no desire to eat anything. On the wooden side table to your right (gifted to you by your mother in law) lay periodicals much lighter than your current endeavour and a large cup of hot black coffee. Through the wooden door frame in front of your chair, you see the silhouette of your wife preparing something or other for dinner. Her round Britannic rump is plain to see even in the world of shadows. "I'm going to obliterate that later," you think to yourself. You notice out of the corner of your eye that your penis is rather large; you have no need for a lamp because YOU use a kindle. You put it down and replace it with your old iPhone 7. Time to phonepost on /lit/.