When I was little, there was a closet under the stairway. At the back of the closet, behind the coats and the vacuum cleaner, behind the wrapping paper and extra dishes, there was a little space just big enough for a seven year old girl. In that little space, I plugged in a lamp, cleared the floor, leaned a picture against the wall, and claimed it for my own.
I guess you could say I’ve always liked little spaces that contained only what I needed and nothing more. I often find myself day dreaming about tiny living in my grown up life. I wonder if the folks from Tumbleweed had little rooms under the stairs long ago?
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