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Weekly Contest #122
Upon crossing the threshold, I let the bag fall off my shoulder as I squirmed out of my worn-out leather boots and green winter jacket. Of course, such torturous, unalluring stripping was only to be finished with a gentle, yet dramatic toss of the coat onto the chair in the corner. There was no need for etiquette, only a repeated internal joke was an acceptable greeting at this point: “Hakuna!” I yelled from the corridor. “Matata!”[1] – followed a response from the illuminated kitchen. With that, the phrase was complete. I stumbled through...
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