The shower, too, was carpeted-a special type of water-proof carpeting. And finally, the walls were carpeted-water proof and dirt-proof. Across from Myra mounted on the wall was a painting of a young girl in blue; she was given the painting as a gift from a customer, and when faced with the dilemma of where to place it, she decided the bathroom would be best. It's the only time she sat down for more than a minute, after all.
Myra was always busy. Her work followed her from the office back to her small apartment. She was an inventor. Her larger efforts involved magnetizing roads and cars, but she could also be credited with the invention of the water-proof carpeting that covered her bathroom, and many others across the city of New York. The bathroom was something of a lab to Myrna, and she was constantly testing out new ideas for carpeting. She was fiddling with a few new ideas currently, none of which were fully complete. Carpeting, it must be understood, was essential in Manhattan. New York was a hard city, and especially welcome to something that would round the corners of its acute, looming skyscrapers. The Hudson River has swelled so much, too, that water-proof anything was sure to be a best-seller.
After a solid two hours of sleep, Myra awoke to the shoes of the little girl in the painting. She had somehow fallen asleep on the bathroom floor. Something about the girl in blue was so comforting. Perhaps that was why she placed it in the bathroom. But the girl is not herself surrounded by carpeting. How, Myra thought, could she be so at ease in a room full of jagged, hard edges What was protecting her Perhaps she was painted in a time far less dangerous, Myra reasoned.
Myra brushed her teeth and left for work wearing the same thing as the day before, with childhood and comfort on her mind.
The skies today were as unforgiving as a mother bear protecting her cubs (simile). It seemed that any small move could provoke hostility, could open the skies to let down floods not unlike those of the Hudson. It was cold and harsh, like the corners of the high rise steel buildings sprouting up all around Myrna (simile) on her walk to work. Cars now outlawed in Manhattan, streets were narrowed, leaving room for more and more buildings to be built. Myrna took her pocket-umbrella out and laughed to herself at fate of a once environmental friendly mandate given way to destruction of a different form. She made her way to her building, a three-hundred story high rise with the sign, "Carpet Your World", lit above the door, surrounded by green water-proof carpeting. There was no grass in Manhattan, only grass-like carpet.
Myrna eyed the door; its two handles reached out to her, forcefully inviting her to enter (personification) the bane of an office lying a short distance beyond the doors. Not today. Today was not a day for working. Myrna kneeled down, picked an artificial flower from the bed of carpeting, and turned towardwell, anywhere except the office.
Walking several blocks, Myrna stopped at the gate of Central Park. Paved over fifty years ago with cement, Myra's company had succeeded in carpeting the entire park in its latest faux grass line, like the green carpeting in front of her office building. The rain had stopped momentarily, and she lay down beside a large, comforting, artificial maple tree.
Staring up into the sky, Myrna's thoughts fell on the painting in her bathroom. Outside of