(Old tooth’s)fugler documentary episode eight

Sliding back inside through the door gap took minimal effort, just a smooth coast down the entryway runner that rolled me right to the base of the desk. In the quiet corner, a small metal binder clip was clamped onto a discarded wooden ice pop stick. It looked comfortable enough right on the carpet edge, and the computer tower nearby was emitting an unhurried, steady purr. I propped my back against the desk leg, extended one heel, and pressed the stick downward. The wood flexed, then slapped flat against the floor with a crisp, dry thwack. Everything stayed still after that. I had no reason to get up.