Tolsof

He always hated newspapers.. Their rough fibers, the smell of trees cut down at who knows what cost. The misguided, biased information spewed as fact. Why he was looking at his worst enemy, flipping through the pages, exposing that god forsaken sent, he could no longer remember... but here he sat, in his bean bag chair, glasses beginning to slip of from his short nose, staring at the obituaries. It was job listings. That's why he was holding this mash of tree fibers and ink between his fingers. The black smudges seemed to be imprinted on his glasses, his eyes never receiving the information to make sense of what is in front of him, causing th