Packing Paper Hollow

The evening air by the street curb was turning frigid, so I marched back up the walkway toward the front porch. Climbing the stone steps on tired knees made me thoroughly cranky. Right beside the post sat a small corrugated cardboard parcel, its flaps folded open to reveal crumpled brown kraft paper. A stiff inner tab was jutting out awkwardly, which annoyed me, so I gave it a sharp shove until it creased flat against the wall. I climbed over the rim feet-first into the paper nest. Kicking the stiff brown sheets into a snug hollow, the heavy paper wrapped around my shoulders, blocking out the chill completely. I am done moving.