To me, this piece of linoleum was the height of beauty and sophistication.
Laid on the bottom of Florence's closet, peeking through some shoe boxes and other miscellaneous items, like her secret box of tampons. There may have been art on the walls and a Steinway in the living room, but furniture and floors were more catch as catch can. A hand-me-down, a second hand find, something cheap from Coney.
This piece of floor defied all that, insisting on being a brush stroke of aesthetic taste, like joy and hope, only briefly seen behind closed doors.
**
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