August 06, 2005

“I would really like to see you write a novel one day,” she told Trevor.

“Oh, everyone should see him write in a yellow room on a sweaty afternoon,” I said. “The act itself is fantastic and I have pictures to prove it.”

When he writes in yellow rooms, Trevor can rarely sit still. He shifts his position, now typing standing, now kneeling down on the floor. The typewriter makes a fantastic clutter as his bony fingers press down on the keys. You can see muscles flexing, words flowing as you sit on the floor in your underwear watching him type.

The afternoon is hot, and you you feel sleepy and strangely satisfied. Fantastic things always happen in yellow rooms.