The couch was musty and smelled of drool.  It was a brown color, and fit the wood accenting.  The bookcase was full, aside from one book, I could not tell which one.  The colors of the hardback novels blended in an opaque hue of blue, red, and brown.  The air was full of impurities and dust, I could see it floating through the air and settling on the books.  The room, tinted orange from the outside light creeping through the shades, told me, it must have been the morning.  As I rolled over, I saw one book lying on the carpet; it was the absent one from the bookcase.  I noticed I did not mark my page.  The floor was clean, well, aside from the newly deposited feline fecal matter in the corner, where it always is.