Nothing

It was beautiful.
That dangling bead of drink, suspended by a microscopic friction between liquid and follicle.
It lingered for eternity, elbowing the beard hairs on either side, trembling on it's prickly precipice. Sour and acidic, the droplet resembled the obvious tear.
It was something.
Nothing. Nothing. Leonard rustled his paper purposefully. It was 4 in the afternoon and he was working though his second gin, scanning the print which blackened his fingers, waiting for the phone to ring, for a knock at the door that would rouse the dogs.
For something. He wiped the drop from his beard.
He focused on his own quiet breathing, listening to it's rhythm as his eyes languished on the page, on the sentence "... dragging the river..." "Notify next of kin..."
A fly buzzed and flitted and landed on the thin edge of the paper. Leonard watched it rub it's front legs together, like a greedy cartoon character anticipating some ill-gotten plunder. He stopped breathing. It was something, that insect perched there, praying or plotting or preening.
Leonard sucked in wind forcefully, causing the bug to jump and the dogs to prick up their ears. He exhaled and waited for something.
For the next something.