three line tales, week 213

an old school desk with lamp, rotary telephone and typewriter photo by Klaas via Unspalsh

When I climb the stairs, to the attic room I use for my writing center, I smell the musty air settling down on my skin as I climb the folding ladder. I left my work abruptly, yesterday, and now hope my ideas will flow freely back into my head. This quiet attic holds more stories than I am even aware of, which I hope to learn by sitting at my desk, with the light of my lamp shining upon my typewriter.

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