/lit/ - Literature

The letter of censure came in a brown envelope. The kind with metal closures. We had just finished eating Thai food and now I was drinking and she was knitting. Something to pass the time, she'd said. Fractured sunlight and street sounds pressed against the glass, and a warm breeze slithered under the half open window. Her cat who she calls Max and I call Cat was on the rug, laying on it's back and staring at me. Begging for food. I offered it some beer. It made a cat sound at me and I shrugged back.

Did we get any mail?

Dunno. I stood and walked the fourteen steps to the door.