Twenty-four days pass slowly in the semi-light, under the table by the door. Not been to a kid's house in longer.
Even Teacher-man's kids have forgotten me:
Found me on the living room floor they did, exhausted from my journey to read, and put me back in the crate under the table!

There is so much under here:

dust 

wires

hair

broken doll arms

a wheel

boxes

batteries

and feet

feet clumping 

or shushing 

but nothing of interest:
no
books
or books
or books

I am too exhausted to even try to move so I sit sideways. Sad.