Tapping, snapping, closed-fist knuckles rapping, playing out the tune that’s stuck up in your head. In the car, barely moving, your thumbs are thumping the steering wheel instead. Idle moments filled with sound by busy digits thinking when you’re not. Strumming, drumming, when life’s not forthcoming, making music on the spot.
This post was inspired by the Writing 201 (Day 7) Prompt: Fingers, Prose Poem, Assonance