Couch Pit Stop

I wrestled a chunky knit scarf across the sofa cushion, rolling the wool into a solid, rounded bolster. After pounding the sidewalk all afternoon, my boots were practically begging for a pit stop. I leaned back into the deep fabric corner, propped both heels right on top of the roll, and folded my arms behind my head. The reading lamp on the side table threw a warm pool of light over the whole spot. No tracks to sprint and no wheels to chase tonight—just a solid breather before tomorrow's first lap.