Someday I'd like to have a writing room. A place to do nothing but think and write. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a writer. I expect like anything else I do I'll simply be a mechanic, but I enjoy writing. I would like to get better, and really learn to share what's on my mind so that an audience may be stirred to their own thoughts.
For now I write in a basement. With cinder block walls that are rough and white. I hear the drip of the sump pit, and take respite from my writings to look up and see our ironing board. I can almost make out my reflection in the stainless steel iron. My chair is nice, but when I sit too long it reminds me. My desk, a trusty old table salvaged from a church from yesteryear. It no longer has the band that wrapped its particle board top so my shirt rubs against its rough sides. This is my environment from which to write. It will have to do for now.
--Ben
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