The middle one bends down for a closer look. Suddenly he shrieks and leaps into the air
If I had to name it I would probably call it a pile, but I don’t feel the need. It’s just there at the edge of my vision as I sit drinking coffee and reading headlines in the early morning: a tidy little heap of dust and fur and crumbs on the floor, as if someone had swept that corner of the room then got distracted while looking for the dustpan.
If I think about it at all as I sit there with the headlines, it is in terms of the extent to which it is not my problem – someone else’s incomplete chore, waiting to embarrass them. Its presence doesn’t concern me, although I can’t say I didn’t notice it. I think: that is exactly what I will say.
