Thomas stared at the sheet of paper that was on his podium. The little strands and worms of eraser once again littering the blank, white sheet as he erased that one starting line. What would it take to start? The design for the building had to be finished by the next morning and he didn't even have an idea.
Hello. My name is Thomas Moore. I'm an architect. It sounded better than it felt. He looked up, outside the window as he picked up his mug of beige colored coffee (it was more milk than the black shit itself) and took a sip, squinting a bit as he did so. His eyes wandered across the street, past the home of his across-the-street neighbor and into the green behind it. He saw a long neck flicker up from the ground, and two eyes stare past him. They never look at you, do they? In a flash, the doe had scampered off to be devoured by the green forest.
Thomas glanced at the clock. 3:32. I'll be early if I leave now. His eyes moved back to the paper, as if he expected it to make an attempt to stop him. He shrugged, grabbing his jacket of f the coat rack and making his way out the front door.
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