Shopping

There are chairs everywhere. The room we rent seems small. There is no kitchen (although we do have a coffee pot and microwave on the vanity) and there is no bathroom. We must share these luxuries with the rest of the tenants on the floor. I broke a support between two legs of the small, brown wooden chair by accident. I won’t tell her because she’d get mad and then I wouldn’t be able to touch her skin while she sleeps.

How did we accumulate so many chairs? This is a question I often contemplate while I sip my coffee sitting in the green felt chair, the torn brown leather chair, the wooden white chair, the chair with the weaved seat, or the chair that squeaks when no one is in it. There are other chairs but I do not sit in them.

She should be back soon from the store. She’s buying ointment for the raised welts on my back and a new gag; the old one is ripping at the seams and I’ve been choking on the strings.