“Come,” say the Sloth today. “Lemme show you a place that is soft like dreams, cushion you’self with four, five pillows, take you’ po’ cold feet off this clammy floor, hunker down under warm sheets, stare up at rain-soakin’ sky and float away on you’ face in warm, aquamarine waters, waves lollin’ you like a mammy singin’, up an’ down, sun coverin’ you’ back with yalla silk…”
“No, no,” I cry like a teen under peer-pressure. “I got wares to wash, notes to write…”
The Sloth snicker.