There are few things more dreadful than a working Saturday. One of them is coming into a dark, empty office at 8 am on one such day, while your friends are asleep.
It smells of stale air-conditioned air; the fancy counterpart of musty old-room smells. Atleast the latter has character.
I eat cornflakes from a disposable glass, because the only bowl that they have has a crack. My laptop is frozen; a painfully blue screen saver is the brightest thing in my morning.
I can’t even tell right now, whether it’s ‘ in my morning’ or ‘of my morning’
Saturday morning preposition fail. Going by my track record, it'll be one of the many glitches of the day, amidst paper cuts and technological collapses.
It smells of stale air-conditioned air; the fancy counterpart of musty old-room smells. Atleast the latter has character.
I eat cornflakes from a disposable glass, because the only bowl that they have has a crack. My laptop is frozen; a painfully blue screen saver is the brightest thing in my morning.
I can’t even tell right now, whether it’s ‘ in my morning’ or ‘of my morning’
Saturday morning preposition fail. Going by my track record, it'll be one of the many glitches of the day, amidst paper cuts and technological collapses.
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