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Weekly Contest #120
My hand reached for the dust-covered photo album on the shelf. God, does he ever clean? The deep brown leather cracked with age and became rough. I wandered to the familiar old beige couch that belonged to my grandmother, Maggie. Now it smelled of mildew. The air was thick and stale despite a breeze drifting through the trees outside. I stopped myself from sniffing the book for fear of an allergy attack. Stupid, dust. The cover was stiff as it opened and then I was met with a soft round face. The familiarity released a torrent of tear...
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