The critic

A small brown moth drawn in by the glow of his laptop clings to the flat screen with wings outstretched. A few pixels show through the clear patches in the center of each wing. Does that feel good? he murmurs when the blinking cursor passes underneath it. The bedsprings creak in the other room. Beyond the softly whirring fan the famous skyline flickers with heat lightning as his fingers go on clattering over the keys.