Robin Hawke


Rug
March 2, 2012, 5:00 PM
Filed under: Three Sentence Stories

One of their first purchases together, the rug graced the entrance hall. Its pile uneven, its pattern defamed, the warp and weft of its fibers thinned with use where the grind of muddy shoes hid memories of geriatric pets. It was dumpy; it was vacuumed; it remained virtuous in its duties underfoot.

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