Wooden Desks, Thirst and Sticky-ness

By: Lana

Morgan sat at his desk, his fingers tapping on the top of his wooden desk. The house smelled like cigarettes, fried chicken, and beer. The light streaming through the window blinds reminded him that it was early in the morning. The clock on his wall ticked away, and Morgan wondered why he even kept the clock. Most nights it annoyed him as he tried to retrieve the little sleep he ever had.

"Oi," his roommate greeted him. Morgan ignored his hung-over roommate and concentrated on tapping his fingers on the wooden desk. His roommate fumbled around the room, looking for a lighter. Morgan continued to ignore him. "Oi." Morgan continued to ignore the man that smelled like cigarettes, fried chicken, and beer.

His roommate smacked Morgan in the back of his head before walking away. Morgan continued to tap his fingers on the wooden desk, watching as the flesh of his fingers gave way each time they came in contact with the surface of the desk. He was thirsty, but too lazy to do anything about it. He moved his eyes from his fingers, which he continued to tap. On the desk rested a bag of Tostitos Scoops- White Corn Chips. Next to that bag sat a jar of Tostitos Hot-Chunky Salsa. It was a good alternate for water, Morgan decided as he stopped tapping his fingers.

The glass of the jar was still cold, having been in the refrigerator only a few minutes ago. Morgan turned his head slowly to look at the kitchen. It was only a few steps away from his wooden desk and comfy chair. He decided that those steps were too large, so he remained in his chair. Turning the cold metal of the lid, Morgan opened the jar of salsa. The bag of corn chips crinkled noisily as he grabbed it.

Morgan took a chip and dipped it into the jar. The jar was almost empty and as he dipped, his fingers touched the sides of the cold jar. Morgan didn't like the chill the cold glass sent him, nor did he enjoy the sticky substance on his hand. The red salsa stuck to his hand like old paste. He looked at his hand, disgusted by the red stuff on his finger. It was cold and sticky.

"Oi," his roommate re-entered the room. Morgan turned his eyes to the man, seeing that his roommate was dressed. He still smelled of cigarettes, fried chicken, and beer though. Morgan went back to his hand, deciding that the salsa was more important. It was chunky.

His roommate mumbled profanities before picking up Morgan's wallet and taking out a few twenties. Morgan watched the salsa on his hand, ignoring the smell of his money leaving. The smell of money was distinct to his nose. His roommate slapped his hand, which still had his corn chip in it, as he left the house. Morgan made no noise. Instead he watched as the chip did two flips and landed on his wooden desk. The corn chip spilled its salsa all over his desk. His wallet lay only a few centimeters from the spill. Maybe corn chips and salsa weren't a good alternate, he decided.

Morgan turned his head to the kitchen. The light was left on, and the sunlight was pouring in through the window. Morgan wondered who turned on the light. It certainly wasn't him, for he was tight with money right now. His roommate hadn't step foot in the kitchen in two days (not wanting to wash the dishes). Maybe it was his roommate's girlfriend? Maybe she would get him water... Now he was thinking of other things she could give him.

Back to business, he thought, clearing his throat. The fridge droned with life, making the only noise in the house. He watched as a single drop of water dropped from his leaking faucet. The roll of paper towels lay on its side on top of a surprisingly clean counter. Morgan looked at the towels longingly, ordering them to roll his way. Instead the paper towels stood their ground, unmoving and apathetic. He was both sticky and thirsty. Morgan looked at the fridge again, his eyes focusing on the doors. Black handles stood with greasy hand stains, waiting for him to grab them then get a bottle of water. Morgan became even thirstier with each passing second.

He could still smell cigarettes, fried chicken and beer. Green danced around the room as the sun light hit the beer bottles on the floor. His pack of cigarettes lay empty on his wooden desk; he made a note to go to the corner store to get more soon. Morgan realized, forgetting his thirst and sticky-ness that he was turning into his roommate.


I didn't really re-read this, so if anything sounds off, I'd super apperciate it if you'd tell me. Thank you for reading, loves.