131-word post, or “Curb Table”

“No two ways about it,” thought Meander Ghunt, “My table is floating.”

And he was right. For the second time today, the table was floating in a circle about a foot off the ground, sending the cutlery, dishes, napkins and plates he’d carefully placed on them for tonight’s meal crashing to the floor.

Once every item had fallen, the table settled gently back to the floor, and he swore he could hear it snickering.

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Meander had just moved into this new apartment a few days ago, and had rescued the table from the curb a few nights ago, and he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he should have paid heed to the hand-written note on it that had read: “WARNING! THIS TABLE IS A DICK!”

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