Hi, Everyone, Here’s another *draft* piece – much closer to 250 words this time! Thank you so much for your comments last week.I look forward to this week’s round.
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Mal walked upstairs. Kicking off her shoes, she scuffled through the pile of clothes on her floor. Underneath yesterday’s socks and last week’s cardigan was her favorite pair of jeans. Worn through and faded, they hung loosely off her hips, bagging like sweatpants. They were soft like sweats, too, at the perfect state of wear for denim: in a week or two, they will probably fall apart, but just now, they are snug and loose in all the right places. Buttoning them, Mal thought about their origin. They had been left at a friend’s house the morning after a party. No one knew whose pants they were – and, frankly, no one wanted to ask too many questions about how it was that someone left their pants at a party – but they were soft and relatively clean, so no one spent too much time trying to find the owner. A gift to the party gods, the jeans were then passed from Mal’s friend to Mal after Mal rescued her from a different unmemorable night. Mal figured they were just payment for services rendered, and kept them. She rather liked their ambiguous loyalty and viewed them not so much as her jeans, but as jeans that had stopped by for a visit. Mal wasn’t interested in things that she could own. The house wasn’t hers, not really. She was just taking care of it until it passed along to the next owner. The jeans were similar – not hers, but with her for now. Her truck was Timmy’s, and for all she knew, might be his again someday. The only thing Mal was particular about was her guitar. That was hers, hers and no one else’s.
- Entry the First, In Which Proust’s Playlist is Born, Sunday Snipets Critique Blog Hop (mermaidssinging.wordpress.com)