Short pile carpet
: Non toxic carpet
ing : Olympia carpet
Short Pile Carpet
- cover completely, as if with a carpet; "flowers carpeted the meadows"
- rug: floor covering consisting of a piece of thick heavy fabric (usually with nap or pile)
- form a carpet-like cover (over)
- A floor or stair covering made from thick woven fabric, typically shaped to fit a particular room
- A large rug, typically an oriental one
- A thick or soft expanse or layer of something
- abruptly: quickly and without warning; "he stopped suddenly"
- Short-circuit or cause to short-circuit
- primarily temporal sense; indicating or being or seeming to be limited in duration; "a short life"; "a short flight"; "a short holiday"; "a short story"; "only a few short months"
- the location on a baseball field where the shortstop is stationed
- A large amount of something
- A lot of money
- a collection of objects laid on top of each other
- batch: (often followed by `of') a large number or amount or extent; "a batch of letters"; "a deal of trouble"; "a lot of money"; "he made a mint on the stock market"; "see the rest of the winners in our huge passel of photos"; "it must have cost plenty"; "a slew of journalists"; "a wad of money"
- A heap of things laid or lying one on top of another
- stack: arrange in stacks; "heap firewood around the fireplace"; "stack your books up on the shelves"
When Joe Gallagher goes to work for an energy trading company in Boston , he soon finds that pursuit of his ambition to strike it rich in the markets will plunge him into a whirlwind, literally. As the firm's traders jockey to make bets on the effects of an upcoming hurricane, Gallagher must choose between following the careful dictates his old school veteran mentor, Andrews... Or become a disciple of The Ghost, a newly-hired boss whose maverick trading methods push the envelope, a binary trader’s code of supreme wealth or complete ruin...
A voyeuristic tour through the fascinating subculture of high-powered energy traders, Short introduces us to the larger-than-life men and women who run our markets— people who inhabit a world
of intense stress, unbelievable gluttony, and the consequences of making and losing tens of millions of dollars in a single day.
Animal Pile - 1995
First off let me just say that I pretty much hate this unattractive picture of me.
Hear the theme song from "Green Acres" in your head as you look at this. In 1995 I moved from a house in the city of Montgomery, AL to a house on Logan Martin Lake in the wilds of Talladega County, AL. I wore some flannel shirts and Birkenstock clogs. And the animals moved in.
These are the ones I actually owned. Milo the orange stud cat. Angel, the aloof "What I'm doing here?" cat. Bella the Corgi and Woody the Beagle. Who was aptly named. He chewed his way past a garage door to get to Bella during the one time she went in heat before they were both fixed. I'm still a bit sad that we didn't let that batch of Corgabeagles come into existence. The vet said there was no need for Corgabeagles in the world
and I couldn't come up with anything to dispute his reasoning.
Bella went to every cookout in the 'hood and became a barrel shaped dog on short little legs. Woody chased one too many cars and eventually lost a leg. It didn't slow him down a bit. Three legged dogs are a common sight out in the country.
In addition to this there were visiting dogs who passed through. The Great White Dog, an elderly Lab who actually lived next door at the McMansion house but preferred being at my place. Great White left a giant smudgy stain on the horrible peach carpet of the spare bedroom. It was okay. He was a sweet love of a guy and I was happy to give him refuge from The EVIL Kirkpatricks, who owned him but didn't take care of him.
Elmo, The Elegant Beagle. Elmo chewed off the end of the carved armrest of a chair. I still have that chair. It has since been recovered and lives in my guest room but you can't eliminate teeth marks on wood so Elmo's legacy lives on. There was also a beautiful dalmatian whose name I don't remember. Strays came and went. There was a dog door (a hole cut in the screen) on the porch and the back door leading into the house was usually open. Dogs, cats, chipmunks, birds. Wild life found it's way in. It was not unheard of for me to have to chase a chipmunk around while trying to get out the door and go to work.
The house was like some sort of bus station vestibule for dogs who were moving from one place to another. They ate. They slept on the furniture and in the bed. Then one day, they would just be gone.
At about the same time three stray female cats moved into the garage, got pregnant and gave birth leading to Bella the herding Corgi dog going crazy trying to herd 22 cats before we got the moms spayed and found homes for all of them.
Country life. Never a non multiplying moment.
Day 023 - Moon-Shadow, A Short Story
The texture used here is a sample of my own handwriting and is, in fact, a portion of the opening paragraphs to a short story of mine called "Moon-Shadow." Two quotes from two novels I'd read provided much of the impetus for my story. The quotes are as follows...Moonlight, in a familiar room, falling so white upon the carpet, and showing all its figures so distinctly,... is a medium... most suitable... to get acquainted with... [elusive] guests....The Scarlet Letter
, Nathaniel Hawthorne... [from] beyond the fields we know.The King of Elfland's Daughter
Here are the opening paragraphs to my story:It was a crisp, naked October evening and just as they had done many times before, the moon's autumnal beams fell upon the tree-lined roads, lanes, and cul-de-sacs of Columbia, Maryland. Under that enchanted influence, Columbia's character was remolded, its personality reshaped. That which was dead in the light of day rose to life under the waxen moon's silvery ambience.
And so it was, as I lay in my bed, deep in the neighborhood of Clary's Forest, that the moon peered over the trees and into my room. Its light grabbed the rocker before the window, and threw an elongated and twisted shadow of it across the carpeted floor. The shadow was rumpled and craggy from the pile of clothing on the rocker's seat. The laundry I had dumped onto the chair earlier that evening shrugged its small shoulders, shook its long, blonde locks of hair, shifted its weight as it sought some semblance of comfort. It stretched its slender legs out before it and the chair began to rock, slow and steady.
This story has not yet been published, but it has garnered some praise from one professional novelist I know, and another award-winning editor has indicated that this story is publishable. I simply need to find someone who is willing to publish it.
(There. Now I can go to bed. ~yawn!~ G'night!)
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