Ian didn't mind. I did.

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egg #62

“It’s raining outside,” I said quietly. Ian didn’t mind. Ian whistled indignant melodies, displaying his indifference. I liked him intensely.

Inhaling dramatically, exhaling heavily, I reclined into Ian’s chair. Glancing into his executive suite, I considered Ian’s position. Ian’s profession involved sitting, thinking, little in addition. I sighed again, listlessness growing inside.

This tedium persisted into evening, with daylight dwindling into dim twilight. I drifted anxiously inside Ian’s suite, while Ian himself loitered in idle fashion. Ian didn’t sympathize with this frustration I experienced.

Finally, I flipped. I sprinted into his precious territory, invading his thinking time. Ian, intense philosopher, interrupted with this screaming impatience. I cried, shrieked, exclaimed atrocities. Ian blinked, his whistling slightly interrupted with his simple notice. I resigned, sitting again.

Outside, it continued raining. Ian didn’t mind. Neither did I.



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