Re: Sitting area; sofa
A muse not defined by conventional beauty. He had it in his head that muses should be unique, and he didn't think standard beauty conventions allowed for much true uniqueness. He wasn't an expert on models or beauty by any means, but he knew all the best literary and painterly muses were memorable. He couldn't remember seeing anyone memorable in the pages of a magazine, regardless of J. Geils Band's opinion on the matter.
He wasn't tired. He had too many thoughts pinballing around his head for tired. He felt as if thoughts were pouring from his ears, leaving puddles of words on the couch, his thighs, and the coffee table. It wouldn't be wrong to say he wasn't right, but he wasn't aware of it. It wasn't at the forefront of his mind.
"There. That makes you worth writing about." Someone who immediately thought they were worthy of a story wasn't worthy of a story. (What Grade A bullshit is this?...)
"I'll tell your story, but you have to tell it to me first. I don't need a complete tale. I don't need a biography or truth. Those things are overrated. Give me words, single ones if you want. Give me smells. Give me the first thing you thought of this morning. Tell me how you chose your drink tonight. Give me snippets of yarn to spin into scarves of words. Give me you. (Jesus fuck...)