Chairs of the Cabin

I sit in my cabin on any of the decrepit chairs busting my way through this manuscript. One side of my ass hurts so bad that my neck grows tense. I know it is time for bed, but I love the beer and wine so damn much. My back is in need of a new chair, this one left behind by that mad writer "Fraser". Straight up posture, twisted leg, taped together early 50's vintage. Or the pure luxury studded dinning table chair which is the only cabin original , seat cushion rotted off years ago, but the back support stands out amongst options. The old capuccino bar stool set, vintage early 80's discarded by my neighbours years ago, have seen their day and lean with a twist when used. My late brother Gordon's chair sit's in the living room waiting to devour someone. "The Green Monster". This chair has been in my life since I was 10 years old. Besides my brothers chair in the living space in front of the open fire place, [that is a hit only in the cold of winter] is another circa 50's green arm chair [grandmother's]. This one mildewed on the backside from where the roof leaked overhead. And finally the soft lean twister chair upstairs looking out the window.
Light fades as pen runs dry. There's that polluted little object I fill with M-J, some one put it away. And the girl on the beer-can winks at me and it feels good as light fades the words grow.