[ kaveh looks. day twos are sort of like this, a listless lilt on an uneven sea as his body grapples with the need for sleep and spirals with whatever it is that's keeps him there. what is terrible about day twos is the malleability of reality. the texture of the streets comes into sharp, cemented relief, but the street signs switch places like a magician's rotating cups. the colours of the word sharpen and seep in vivid kaleidoscopic reams, but the word for vermilion catches on the tip of kaveh's tongue and stays there, much in the way of a coloured thorn.

anyway, that is to say - kaveh looks because he's certain that he'd left his workshop locked three hours ago when he stepped out to get twenty-eight grade a size nine rivets, and also he's certain he didn't leave someone in the cushioned, swinging egg-shaped chair he'd installed by the window where the sunlight tended to be the strongest in the afternoon. ]

Um. [ kaveh starts, as usual his eloquent self. he shifts the giant wooden board he's holding to his other, scarred hand, and tilts his head as if the image will change based on his angle of approach. it doesn't. ] Well, this is a first. I don't usually hallucinate on day twos. Ah - right. [ kaveh toes the door shut behind him. the draft immediately ceases. he has, after all, renovated this space to prevent such things. and then: ] No, I'm still seeing you. Who are you? How did you get in here? And most importantly, is the chair comfortable?