Write four lines of prose about: familiar territory.
I got a call late this morning, asking if I could work the closing shift (4 to 9) at the community centre tonight. Very unexpected, but equally welcome. And then they called again a couple hours later, asking if I could do the same shift next Friday night.
It would seem that I'm finally getting some paying work out of this job. Only took more than half a year!
Tonight was fairly busy (compared to my shift right before Christmas anyway) but it was nice to have somewhat recent experience to help me out. If this starts to become a regular thing I might even be able to eventually go in without bringing my three pages of notes with me.
He finds the silence uncomfortable, like a faint itch that he is unable to scratch. There is a temptation to squirm, to change positions constantly, even to get up and leave the room. But then the yelling starts up again, a cacophony of accusations and expletives.
And he returns to a placid stillness, for this is what he has known all of his life.