Godzilla Firepit, Wednesday Morning

[boho_to_be]

He hadn't spent much time with telephones or computers yet, but even after he did Christian's favorite invention of the 21st century might still be the ballpoint pen. Not having an inkwell to fuss with made it much easier for him to take his writing to beside the cold firepit, where he could alternate drinking coffee and people-watching with writing. He was working on two things: A poem for himself, and his first letter home to his father. One was, of necessity, rather more censored than the other. (As far as Christian's father would ever know, this was exactly the severe boarding school of his dreams.)

It felt too early to build a campfire, and Christian wasn't in the mood for the labor of gathering wood and tinder anyhow. He'd let someone else build the fire, if they wanted to.

"What rhymes with sunshine?" he muttered, new pen scratching away.