The Floor I feel like the floor. Everything else here has a purpose. A unique purpose. Not the floor. The rightmost wall Has the doors From Outside. Leading in. And the doormat And doorstop That is actually just a large rock painted yellow. The leftmost wall Has the only outside Windows. Some clear. Some frosted. Some cross-hatched. And of course the door Leading to the balcony And the balcony. The front-most wall Has the whiteboard With announcements And the white Projector screen That rolls down. And the obnoxious Bird clock That chirps And barely tells time. The back-most wall Has Heather’s room With Heather’s snacks. The upperclassmen’s room And the functional clock. Two actually. The floor has the rug. Which is all that people care about. They don’t dare to step on it, but walk all over the floor. They talk about how nice it would be if there was just a gaping hole in a rectangle shape. Where the rug is. And yarn veins of rug rooted all the way through to the first floor. Like a pool of rug. What about the floor.