Couching My Bets

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I’m couchless. My couch couldn’t fit into my building’s elevator; didn’t fit the stairwell, either. Thankfully, I’ve had it for years and it didn’t cost much, so when I found a home for it (I would have had to have paid to have it carted away), I was too stunned to freak out. Starting my “new beginning” as a couchless person is disconcerting. Shop? I’m broke. The cats are confused, too. Tuna tried settling into a grape box with no couch to claim. I, however, can’t fit into a grape box. I line up my dining room chairs and pretend.

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