The sun shines soft and white through my kitchen window. It bounces around the things on my the table: pc, printer, papers, coffee cups. Its warm rays feel good on my neck, legs, and arms as I type. It's comfortable, comforting, and enlightening. Not only does it come through the window, it breaks through my writer's block.
And I become a cat who eats raw meat, a feline that feasts on fish and flesh.
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