Couch

There was an ugly little couch with a flowery-print sitting on the side of the road earlier. I saw it on my way to the grocery store. It was so ugly and sad, with its flowery print worn away from all of the sweaty backs that had rubbed against it, and with its cushions depressed down to the frame from all of the fat asses that had sat down on it. I thought about it the entire time I was at the grocery store. Then, on my way home I saw the couch again and I stopped the car. I slammed the gearshift into park, slinked out from behind the steering wheel, and I shuffled over to the couch. I sat down for a minute. The weather was nice. Sunny. Warm. There was a rustling of leaves in this tree that was yawning over my head. Then I saw a stain on the cushion next to me that looked like a vomit stain, and it made me think that maybe I could vomit too, so I got up and I left. 

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