Dusty, but clean, like the smell of time. It reminds me of old trees or old tree forts. It smells like my grandpa's leather couch. It smells like money that had passed many hands. And you can only smell it in the first moment it is released from the truly ancient beings. You slowly pull its tattered self off of the wood stacks and dust flutters in a ray of sun light that just passed in through the window. You look at the spine and glance at the words, then slowly open the front cover and feel the spine wrinkle in your fingers as you slide it into one palm. Then you flip through the pages. They fan out in a monotype and whispers and cracks as if daring you to look. That is the moment the smell floats past and it fills you with a promise from another world.
Prime Time
She only wanted a moment to say her piece. It's not like they would even post her ideas on the board or anything. She just felt that if she could get this over with her confidence would sky rocket magically and she would just always post her ideas from now on. They didn't have time for another piece so she actually apologized to them. She hits her head against the wall in the second story of her design studio. How could she be like that, so spineless! She angrily grabs a cup of water from the chow table. What was she thinking being so sill, apologizing! She knows what to do and she knows she could be an awesome leader for the next design team, let alone the fact that she will absolutely die if she has to be lead by her snobby boring just good enough co-designer. "co" is the title of their relationship and yet somehow it always seems to fall to her to do all the work and correct all the inadequate pieces and create pure genius while Gracie falls to getting the praise a...
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