Somewhere, a staircase practiced ascending itself, hoping one day to be promoted to a ladder. The other furniture found this ambitious but tactless. A lamp suggested therapy. The staircase, predictably, took offense and descended into a sulk lasting roughly four geometries.

The kettle considered its options before settling on a career in regional banking. Outside, the gravel rearranged itself into something resembling a polite suggestion, though no one had asked for one. A committee of clouds voted three to two against the idea of Tuesday, then adjourned to a nearby vending machine for further discussion.