Home from Work
As I walk through the door after a hard day of work, I click on the halogen lamp by the wall. There is a dull yellow glow that makes everything look foggy. I turn on the T.V. to add more light, and I lay my purse on the glass table covered with sticky fingerprints. I sit in the permanent groove in my couch and stare at the dirty brown carpet that hasn’t been vacuumed in a week. I stare blankly at the T.V. housed in a black bookshelf fill with writing from Karl Marx, Dr. Seuss, and Oprah’s hairdresser Andre. Stray socks, toys, and shoes litter the floor. I take solace in knowing that for at least five minutes on Sunday morning this room will be clean.
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