The Call - Jow Bates

Painting himself onto the canvas of his desk, he waited.

The abstract portrait comprised itself of crimson circles,

As his wine glass fell to lay once again.

Smokey, film noir ambiance, unwittingly deliberated scenes,

"It's all art isn't it?"

Another long night in the studio, iTunes shuffled unwanted nostalgia around James' mind while he 'painted' mood unto the room. He stared openly at his mobile phone.

"Come one."
James was slumped against the table, his arm barely supporting his head.
"Come the fuck on."
The haphazard flick of his cigarette caused ash to wantonly erupt over James' keyboard.

"Fucking ring."

Jow, give up mate.