Don Draper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
selfmadman) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
taxonomites2011-04-26 07:59 pm
selfmadman) wrote in taxonomites2011-04-26 07:59 pm
Entry tags:
[accidental visual | location: don's apartment]
No matter the hour Don wakes to stillness, this apartment one in a host of rooms that have served as little more than a receptacle for his tired body. Today, like most days, he sits hunched at the mattress' edge, coughing, then pads to the kitchen to start the coffee. If the place is to have an animating spirit let it be the machine spitting and gurgling on the counter.
He's been staying here less than a month and the walls still have a fresh-scrubbed look; the furniture—couch, wrought-iron table, the long plank of a writing desk—still seems posed. The cake, modest but topped with a whorl of chocolate icing out of a cookbook, blends right in. It's not until he emerges from the kitchen that Don notices it. He takes a reflexive step back, casts a quick, bewildered glance around the room, and strides to the door to test the lock.
When he returns his steps are measured, his jaw set. He plunks his coffee down and studies the cake with distaste, a hint of wariness—he gives no more thought to eating it than he would a mouse caught in a trap, but something in him recoils at the thought of food wasted. A minute passes, two. Then, without any discernible change in expression, he reaches for the cake.
He's been staying here less than a month and the walls still have a fresh-scrubbed look; the furniture—couch, wrought-iron table, the long plank of a writing desk—still seems posed. The cake, modest but topped with a whorl of chocolate icing out of a cookbook, blends right in. It's not until he emerges from the kitchen that Don notices it. He takes a reflexive step back, casts a quick, bewildered glance around the room, and strides to the door to test the lock.
When he returns his steps are measured, his jaw set. He plunks his coffee down and studies the cake with distaste, a hint of wariness—he gives no more thought to eating it than he would a mouse caught in a trap, but something in him recoils at the thought of food wasted. A minute passes, two. Then, without any discernible change in expression, he reaches for the cake.