My daily companion for many years collapsed yesterday under the weight of writing three books: HOTEL CONSTELLATION: Notes from America’s Secret War in Laos; The Mark of the Spider; and most recently, Beware the Spider.
That’s right. My desk chair died.
I was not injured, but the sound of the left arm giving way under the strain of tens of thousands of typed words startled me from my day dreams. I mean, it interrupted my plotting of a new story for readers.
Fortunately, one of the office supply stores is having a sale on chairs (ending tomorrow), and I got a new one for less than what the old one cost.
You served me well, chair. RIP.