A Bed in the Bread Bag

I carried the crinkly brown bakery bag all the way inside under my arm. The living room was dim and quiet. Climbing onto the low sofa cushion, I placed the bag flat in the soft crevice between two pillows. I reached inside with both plush hands and pressed the bottom square flat so it stood open like a tiny tent. It still held a faint, sweet smell of warm crusts. Then, I nestled my green plush apple right into the hollow and settled beside it, feeling the stiff paper crinkle softly under my shoulder.