The night was cool and dry, with only a handful of clouds peppering the dark skies, allowing stars shine brightly through the window shades. Marcus Gaynes groaned sleepily, turned halfway around in his plush bed, shifting his weight to the side with a grunt and cursed, his arm searching for the cell phone on the bedside table.
You’re yelling at me, destroying my concentration, as if I need another distraction to pull me away from my writing. Your undulating howls tear the air angrily, impatiently, mercilessly stealing everyone’s attention without regards to what it is they have abandoned for you. I wait for the whining to pass, listening to your wails, waiting for the tantrum to end so my brain can resume its function and concentrate, once again, on the page in front of me.