Dthrip - The Drama

The Drama Drip was gone.

The next morning, she called her boss and quit. Her boss sputtered about “lateral thinking” and “Q3 deliverables.” Clara didn’t care. She drove to the art supply store and bought a canvas and the most garish, violent orange paint she could find. She came home, spread a tarp on the living room floor, and began to paint. the drama dthrip

“Drip gone?”

Terrified, Clara sat on her kitchen floor as the sun set. The drip was louder now, almost theatrical. Drip. Drip. DRIP. It wasn't a sound of decay. It was a sound of lack . Of the novel she hadn’t started, the salsa classes she’d quit, the job that paid bills but fed no passion. The Drama Drip was gone