New Chair.

ANYLF has made a capital expenditure: a desk chair, outside, in the spideratorium. The spidiary. The as-yet-unrenovated shed. Coming soon to a fall near you: a new floor, new walls, vaulted ceiling, a bathroom, new windows, coats and coats of paint—but for now, let's us content our two-a-day writing-session selves with the ugliest captain's chair there ever was, eighteen dollars' worth of polyurethane and old basement, courtesy of Greensboro's own salvage and selvage industry. It's nearly comfy. It has a back, which improves upon the trash chair I'd been using. Here's hoping there's a few chapters in it. Here's hoping it's lucky, and it's the shit chair I sit in for the rest of my little writing life. Here's hoping it's still standing come tomorrow morning.

It rained. Not much, but it rained. Tomatoes. All-Star break. New chair.