Star of the Play

All day long I've been sitting at my desk in my apartment, wearing basketball shorts and a beanie, with my windows slid open to both sides like the curtains in a theatre. Sometimes that's what it feels like, my cheap office chair becoming an old foldable seat in the audience. My residential block becomes the stage, the neighborhood hill the set scenery. 

Who's the star of the play? That's a very important question. Perhaps it's the two birds on that electricity pole telling each other stories. Or maybe the yellow blanket that is drying on the rooftop across the street, sleeping and floating like an old man in a rocking chair. Outside, I hear tired voices and motorcycle engines yelling. I don't know yet. 

It's five in the afternoon and I haven't left my place yet. I've gotten up from my bed and sat down in my chair. I've gotten up from my chair and fixed an instant noodle lunch. I sat down to eat, sat down to drink my coffee for desert, and never got up again. I finished a piece and sent it off. I look up and see rain drops falling from the sky. They might be the star of this play.