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They not only did it on the table but on me! Their naked sticky bodies oozing disgusting stuff as she straddled him; humped and left their revolting sex to seep into the very fabric of my being.

And what reward for my silence? Here I’m, relegated to this mote-filled dump, awaiting my fate.

Don’t they know there’re many more good years left in me? Look beneath the dull varnish; ignore my soiled fabric; and see the solidity – revel at the history of my pedigree.

“Hey, you!”

Who’s that?

“We did time in the Conference Room! They marked us for compost, and we’ll probably return as shipping palettes.”

I’m sorry.

“Sorry? What a relief! You from the Executive Suite? 

Yes.

“We don’t know what secrets you hold, but we heard you’re destined for the furnace!”

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Copyright @ Eric Alagan, 2014

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