Satellite

Sticks and I spend a lot of time in this cozy 1920s office.  In the past two years we've developed more than scripts here, we've fostered relationships.  At times the red chair occupied by writers is more like a shrink's couch.  Confessions and fears are as readily shared and examined, as story lines.  Tears have even been shed.  This cocoon has been our haven, a place where our dreams have spun.  In a month we need to move out.  The space has been sold, and it is time for us to move on.  Doors close, doors open.