His fingers dancing on the keyboard filling reams of paper
His thoughts about his own self and about the changing time. It did not bother him if he was typecasting himself in a negative light. He had to write and so he did. Unrelentingly.
And then there came a moment when he stopped typing.
There was an abrupt silence in the surroundings. I looked up into his eyes, and saw a long story welling up in his eyes. He could not write further.
Moving back with the chair he had moved away from the world.
He picked up his bag, his glasses, checked his mobile and walked out of the door, closing it behind him.