I'm currently sitting down at a Barnes and Noble, my laptop in front of me, and an extremely large window to my left allowing a view of the yellowing fall trees to my gaze. I plugged in my headphones so I may listen to the sparrows chirp on the Post Office homepage, masking the light humming of the air vent behind me. Sipping on my coffee I had bought downstairs, I am in full immersion.

Are you wearing a turtleneck?

>>2
That's pretty rude.

I liked your writing, OP.

There has been days for me such as that. The quiet ones, the ones where you can begin appreciating things much more than you can on a daily basis. I once sat down on a bench from a long walk, facing part of a lake nearby. Before I sat down on the bench, I looked at it; it had graffiti, etchings of names and dates, the odd phallus and other foul language. I thought to myself, how sad it would be, to be a bench. You'd get sat on, stood on, scratched, etched, tagged, spat on and get kicked. Occasionally you'd be painted again, reattached with another screw or bolt, taken care of and then neglected again.

I sat down on the bench after a long pause, the couple having a picnic behind me wondering why I stood for so long. I then thought about what other things that would have happened with a bench. People would rest, strangers would talk, tourists would eat while sitting on it, couples would sit down and enjoy the sunset, it would see the sun rise, it would see the sun set, and it may even see the end of the world.

And so, I began my walk home, slightly happier, saddened by the thought of having a mere bench disappear. The amount of things a bench would experience, sweat, sadness, tears, determination, loathe, hate, happiness and love, simply by the people around it. For those five minutes I have spent on that very bench, my life became somewhat better. True immersion indeed.