It was perfect. She looked at her three jars of pennies. Perfect.
She leaned back on the couch, putting her book down, awash in words of a fantasy novel – she smelled the leather and heard the clink of metal the sweat and the bodice around her ribcage. She lay down on the couch and let the words float there, like waves washing over her her as she stared at the pennies, shining copper in the afternoon light it was a mental health day or actually a day she just wanted to take off for no reason other than she could and something told her to.
She breathed in the hot air, the stray cat who now waited for her every night outside her apartment door purring as he lay on her feet. He looked up as she looked at him hoping she would not get up and then realizing she would not fell promptly back asleep but not after stretching the full length of his body.
She placed her hand on the catcalling him purr and then leaned back, the book on her chest and closed her eyes.
It was perfect.