Robert was lost in the chair. Twelve years of use had caused everything to sink. The back was loose and barely hung on. The cushions smelled human, and the carpet under his shoes was stained beige. His front window was dirty, and the sun turned it white. It was Thursday.
Thursday was boring.
The ottoman wrinkled the carpet as Robert pulled it close. It leaned to the right when he put his feet on it. He leaned back. Some time later, he woke up to someone snoring. Mouth open and tongue dry. The sun no longer covered his window in haze. His eyes slid around the darkened room, searching for the clock. Found, it reported 4 AM.
Robert situated himself moderately and turned onto his left side. With stacked ankles, he rocked the ottoman. After a deep breath, he sighed slowly — hissing. He was uncomfortable, but he was tired. He stuffed his right hand into his pocket to keep it from falling off his arrangement. He closed his eyes and relaxed. Sleep came. He woke to a white window. It was Friday.
Friday was boring.
