The Floor—바닥

There is a distinct feeling of coolness and sleekness in this apartment, which is my own apartment, purchased (or rented) with vats of my own blood and sweat. I just swept it a moment ago, and now, to stride barefoot across its faded hardwood floors, to gaze upon the crimson Turkish carpet, the metropolitan panorama outside the great wall-sized window, and the bookshelves packed with old volumes of literature, and the bulky black camera, the mementos from my travels across the world—a red bowl from Georgia, a medal from when I almost broke into an American aircraft carrier, posters from Laos, Arabic calligraphy from the grand bazaar in Istanbul, a green tablecloth embroidered with golden elephants from Cambodia—to gaze upon this, to sidestep with the towers of cement and glass outside, all while the baby sleeps in the deepest realms of unconsciousness, ah, that is pleasant thing to do.

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3 thoughts on “The Floor—바닥

  1. Jennifer says:

    Maybe you should invite friends over to look at it with you… Hint, hint… 😉

    Seriously, though, you wouldn’t have to cook or clean or do anything special. We just like your company.

  2. hiddenconnections says:

    Would you and your husband care to come over for dinner on Saturday night?

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