Call It a Night

Slipping back inside before the heavy front door clicked shut was a photo finish, but my plush boots definitely earned a breather. I marched straight to the living room armchair, where a chunky waffle-knit blanket was draped over the side. Scaling the corduroy cushion took the last burst of spider-stamina. I wedged myself into a deep fold between two cushions and gave a sharp tug on the blanket's fringe to pull it up. A giant woolen tassel promptly flopped straight across my mask like an oversized nightcap. I didn't even bother batting it away—just nudged it behind my head as an impromptu pillow. Officially off the clock.