Non-Fiction in 58

It's a good exercise, fiction or not....

Home
Childhood bed, he’d waited until his parents’ king-size became his. The old sleeping bag - mom froze in time in a zippered plastic tote - smells of comfort.
Fingers run across spines of books; he dares himself to peek at his eighth grade graduation photos.
Secret hiding places still hold treasure, tarnished coins, trinkets.
His home, now a museum visit.

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