Was that good or did I take too much LSD?

If only you could look at it with wakeful eyes, you might dream of it too.

The carpet was old, classy, and decrepit. Stained with 50 years worth of nicotine, and sticky, too, you would never really think what might lay underneath it. Burgundy blotched with Brown, it covered the floor.

But why did it cover the floor?

What did the floor have to hide?

The floor was covered so it could hide its shame.

Because the floor was much older than the carpet. The floor had real history. The floor had enough blood on it, enough semen spilled on it, enough adultery committed upon it, that the floor had actually become impregnated with sentience.

The floor was two-dimensional, but only if you walked upon it. The floor actually hid a pocket dimension, below the limits of perception for most, but easily observable to some.

Every single action committed on that floor, out of lust or love or lunacy, had amalgamated into a 5-dimensional hyper-nigger bellhop, part ghost, part elf, part memory that refused to die.

"Oh my Mistah! You jus dun killed that secretary by choking her with yo' handkerchief! But no worries, no worries at all. Ol' Otis can help you hide her. I'll just take up the carpet, and we put her under the floorboards, and she won't never make a peep. Them we put the carpet back down, and nones the wiser."

There a lot of history underneath these carpets.