The keys tap out "foreverafterwards" into google search (a search I find preferable to that a few minutes ago when, to my chagrin, he tried "Corinne Furnace").
The first thing that comes up is DA.
"Good, that's me". It is pleasing to know that someone has not ripped off the name of my play without my knowing.
I see the mouse hover over the link and then - click. I remain surprised that some of The Writers, after the initial hilarity, are still reading me. Surprised and a little cautious about putting on here how, once I have a career, I will never speak to any of them ever again.
The large screen reveals that the last time I blogged was April. I blame writing a play. And an essay. And working three different jobs. And moving. I think these are good excuses.And even if they are not then this is my blog and my word goes.
The movement of the cursor reveals that he, like me, has already read the words on the screen. I feel that flush of surprise.
Then I realise too, that the last blog is about the boy with his hand on the mouse. I feel a slight thrill of awkwardness, a thrill I am not really used to since for the duration of my blog life the vast majority of people I have written about have either remained pleasingly oblivious or actively avoided DA. Excluding that one night where I got drunk and indiscrete and had to rush home and delete the link to DA from my facebook page in case there was carnage.
There is a fleeting moment when, given the circumstances, I wonder what I am doing, drawing these chalk circles of mine.
"You need to write" He says, using the cursor to highlight his blog-name in blue. I look over at him.
"I want to read what adventures I've been having".
I cannot help it - I laugh. And I wonder quite how I got here.