Semi-Daily Scribbles

A little hot spot flickers to the right of my recliner. Vibrations set in, poking and pricking my skin, as I sit in what used to be her chair. The chair she'd let me sit in on cold days, like today, so she could soak up my body heat. The air around the little hot flickering spot smells like chicken soup. I feel a smidge of wetness on my cheek. One pair of legs, two occupants, nestle in this plush green La-Z-Boy. An incandescent bubble zigs, then zags, in my peripheral vision. A manifestation of my disembodied familiar.