Tap Tap

I can walk the twenty-two steps from my bed to the front door. They are small steps as yesterday a surgeon cut a small hole in my back. The ladies in the living room hear me coming as the tap-tap of my rubber souled slip-ons beat a gentle warning. They sit on the sofa, Amber turning over items in her hands seemingly unsure of their value. Drop it and pick it up, discard it at your peril and hunt for it once again.