Warm Wool Backstage

I slipped back inside under the front door after riding home in a shopper's coat pocket, completely ready to kick off my boots. Dublin's night air was freezing, and my heels were battered from clattering bicycle bells all afternoon. Scaling the dining chair rungs, I hopped onto the broad table where a round ceramic teapot was resting, wrapped snug in a chunky cable-knit wool tea cosy. The pot was still breathing out a faint, comforting warmth. I unlatched my silver microphone, wedged its base into the thick knitted ribbed hem to keep it safe, and leaned my tired back right into the plush wool curve. The city's cold, but my stage has completely quieted down.