The party music woke up the walls of that house, unseen it danced with them, and when they awoke it was far larger than it had been upon all of its yesterdays.
That rug, that stupid old filthy rug, had seen more dancing shoes than a ballroom. It was where we twirled, everyone with everyone, the music escaping from every open window and door. Once the colour of cherries, now it told an earthy tale of love and laughter, of more good times than anyone is ever promised. I could have replaced it, brought in another, but instead we hauled it to the river in good weather and washed it as best we could.
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