Under the Paper Roof

I slipped through the screen door and hopped across the floorboards to escape the cool evening air. Resting face-down on the living room rug was a heavy hardcover book, propped up like a sturdy paper tent. I took two slow hops closer, pausing to inspect the dark triangular opening beneath the pages. Ducking down, I eased myself under the arched spine. The air inside felt still, smelling faintly of dry paper and pressed cloth. I settled my feet into the deep wool weave and stayed put, perfectly sheltered from the room's quiet drafts.