Cedar smoke, a manuscript, and moonlight

Tonight a saxophone from the street below threads through the open window; cedar smoke curls from the incense on the mantel. At my elbow, a mug of tannic black tea and a manuscript speckled with a single, confident marginal note — "too soft here, more temperature" — which made me smile in a manner best described as scholarly and slightly scandalous.

Negotiation reads like editing: explicit sentences, agreed redactions, a slow cadence before anything is allowed to flare. Prolonged correspondence is delicious; tell me which line on page eighteen unsettled you and the reply will arrive long, exacting, and read aloud under candlelight.