Forbidden a lighthouse

Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

The coffee here tastes like burnt pennies. I hate this place. The carpet is that patterned brown kind that looks like a dead skin cell under a microscope. I just spent twenty minutes trying to get the vending machine to…

Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

The paint is peeling again. I spent three hours on the railing yesterday, scraping away the rust, and now it looks worse. It’s a mess. I’m trying to fix the gate, but the hinges are seized. It’s loud when I move it. I…

Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

I’m staring at the concrete. It’s rough. Grainy. I used to sand floors for a guy named Dave who smelled like wet dog. He paid late. Always. I’d just stand there, holding the sander, waiting for the check. It was boring.…

Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

The coffee is cold. Again. I keep forgetting to drink it before it turns into that thick, sludgy swamp that coats the back of your throat. It’s a personal failing, really. I blame the humidity. Or maybe just my general…

Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

I’m staring at a stain on the ceiling that looks exactly like a dead spider. Have you ever tried to ignore a stain that looks like a dead spider? It’s impossible. My brain just loops on the legs. I feel like I’m going…

Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

It’s quiet. Too quiet. Used to be a riot of gulls and diesel fumes here. Now it’s just this weird, sterile calm. I keep looking for the noise, like my ears are broken. Ivo, you look like you’ve been waiting for hours.…

Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

The salt air is getting into everything. It’s eating the paint off the doorframe. I’ve been staring at that crack for three days. It looks like a fracture in the earth, just expanding. I keep thinking about how nothing…

Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

The coffee here tastes like burnt pennies. Ivo, you’re staring at the water again. Stop it. It’s just grey sludge. You used to hate the noise of the waves, remember? You’d put in those foam plugs until you looked like a…

Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

I’m staring at this mug. It’s chipped. I bought it in a shop in Bristol, or was it Cardiff? Doesn’t matter. The glaze is peeling off in little flakes, like dead skin. I keep touching the rim with my thumb. It’s cold.…

Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

Rain slicks the neon graffiti on the wall. I’m staring at a cracked vending machine, wondering if the inside is full of expired sludge or actual coffee. It’s a gamble. My cybernetic eye whirs, trying to focus on the…