The Slipper Hollow

I shuffled past the cracked door back inside the apartment. The corridor had grown cold, and it was time to come in. Near the edge of the woven bedroom rug, a thick wool slipper lay tipped on its side, its fleece collar open toward the baseboard. I stopped. I waited. The refrigerator hummed its low, steady cadence from down the hallway. Leaning my weight forward, I waddled slowly into the opening. The soft fleece gave way with a muffled rustle, wrapping snugly around me. I leaned back into the lining to rest.