Recliners. Dust. Daybeds, loveseats. Jerry was old. Going out of business forever. No one in their right mind bought furniture anymore. Sitting down was a felony, and taking a nap was punishable by death.

How did it ever get to this point? He pulled out a stool. Bent his knees. Sat down. Sighed. Waited.

- a so-so fibonacci sonnet from last night’s writing group