It had slipped behind the couch in a long forgotten passion. Crumpled into a corner of cat hair and superfluous cigarette papers. She came across it while vacuuming the past out of the carpet, a punishment, a penance, a relief. As the vacuum squealed and choked on its greedy meal she rushed to the shirts rescue, drawing it slowly from the machines throat like a magicians never ending scarf.
She gathered the crumpled shirt into a ball, meaning to add it to the ordered pile by the door, but the familiar feel of the fabric, softened by wear, caused her to hesitate. Guiltily darting into the half emptied wardrobe, she daringly pressing her nose and mouth into the folds. A bold attack of scent and memory flew through her and she stifled an animal cry.