Leo;
Nobody has turned the TV off.
It's been on mute since last night. The same morning show loops on the screen, a woman pointing at a map while her mouth makes words that none of us can hear.
Zack kept saying he'd switch it off, but each time he stood, he'd just sit back down. Now it's nearly dark again, and the blue light flickers over five men who haven't moved from the same spots in what feels like forever.
Reed is in the armchair with his paperwork open on his knee. He hasn't turned a page. Zeph is on the sofa with a paperback in his lap, the one with the cracked spine, and every few minutes he opens it, reads a line, and shuts it again. Zack is on the floor with his back against the couch and his arms around his knees, which is where I was last night. Koda is in the kitchen doorway, where he always is, with a dish towel he's been fiddling with for two hours.
