Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Chris' beautiful table

I was horribly mistaken when I referred to the cheap table I threw away the other day as a cheap table. That table was a rock. It was a the apartment living version of the great wall of China. It was a plant stand and friend for almost ten years. We did not shame the table by using it merely to hold our food. It was used to hold the plants that contributed fresh oxygen to the poisonous air of our dank apartment. That table was atlas, our plants the world. That table was parachute infantry, bad air was the German army. The table was bedrock on which the soil of our life-giving houseplants rested. The table was a launching pad, our plants space shuttles that spewed out sweet O2 instead of thousands of tons of pollutants like the real space shuttles. So it was made of cheap pressboard and rocked dangerously if you bumped into it and so what if it was covered in ten years of cat vomit, dust and soil and was bleached by the sun, it was not cheap. It was merely falling apart. A crumbling piece of shit eyesore that needed to be burned years ago.

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