VOID

WAITING                                                                                for something

I sit and drum the table, my fingers tapping out a rhythm, like water dripping onto a tin roof from a leaking gutter, ta da ta dum, ta da ta dum, a slow-march drumbeat, the tick-tock of a grandfather clock, ta da ta dum, ta da ta dum .  I stare at the door, at the phone, at the floor.  I do this for what seems like hours and then I do it some more...