Written by Melissa Booey
Sometimes it feels like a furious fixation, but the more often it occurs you realize that your instincts can sniff out that which will never make it to your table. And not that piece of shit you’re eating off of while you sit on the couch watching Bob’s Burgers and smoking bowls, or your great-grandma’s wooden chest she brought over from Lithuania in 1898, not even your lame-ass countertop with the faux wood and cheap coasters, I mean the table you get for your first home-your first real permanent something or other. That table.
You always knew they’d never make it there.
Edited on 27/05/2018 by Author's Request