Evening Comfort

I walked back inside from the quiet street, stepping slow through the doorway and climbing up the deep cushions of the old leather armchair. Right in the crease of the backrest, an old brass radio dial rested on the wooden side table just an arm's length away. I settled my boots into the worn leather grain, leaned my back against the sturdy cushion, and rested my hand flat against the cool polished knob. Down on the floorboards, a quiet strip of warm lamp light stretched out across the rug. Everything was right where it needed to be. A man has to take his comfort seriously when the day winds down.