Thank goodness it’s not a blown eardrum.
I like my music loud, after all. Partially because I’m partly deaf, but mostly, because music is best at volume, when it becomes your entire world, whether it’s softly crooning Fiona Apple or Loud As Love Soundgarden.
Doesn’t matter. It invades the space. Transports one.
At least, good music does. Bad music becomes little more than white noise, background filler for the task at hand.
Thanks, amoxicillin. Looking forward to being free and clear, right between the ears.
A little rhyme for the children, most of whom would never read this drivel.
Target: 1400 words
Written: 894 words, novel: Father Lightning