The Culprit

A few months ago, I found an old cast iron floor register in the basement.  It had been painted battleship grey and was nothing to behold.  Nevertheless, I brought it upstairs and cleaned it up.  It would almost fit in the corner intake register.  I might paint it a different color as part of my living room “face lift.”  Or something like that.

For some reason, I stored it at the top of the stairs.

Bad idea.

In the early morning darkness, I stubbed my toe on it as I made my way to the upstairs office.  My breakfast protein shake flew out of its glass and hit the wall.  Some of it splattered on my turtleneck and even landed in my hair.  Early morning chaos.  Thank goodness I rumble around this old house alone with no one to hear my profane exclamations.

My writing mojo disturbed, I post this scene of nothingness today.

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