Waiting for Tomorrow

Tomorrow is fine. Waiting is easy. I stepped across the wooden surface toward the shadows by the shelf. There was a small brass pencil sharpener resting against a stack of thick notebooks. I tapped it once with the dull edge of my axe. Heavy metal. A good, blunt sound. I sat down against the book spines, set the axe across my lap, and kept watch over the dark room. Tomorrow will come when it comes.