Talking Story


I’m buying a new rug for the downstairs bath. I dashed in there this morning, nose running, scrambling for a wad of toilet paper for what I insist are allergies, but fear is really a cold. Maybe strep. I don’t have time for a doctor. It’s spring hay fever, I’m sure.

Too bad I can’t swallow. That’s normal, right?

Anyway, I should’ve turned the light on, but I was in a hurry, stepping hard and fast across the tile, reaching along the vanity, down near the commode, when it squished.

I flicked on the light real fast.

There it was in the middle of the cutest blue rag rug you ever saw: a dead robin.

Well, part of one.

Did I mention I was barefoot?

I’m getting a new rug.

I wish the cats loved me less.

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