I have six chairs. Three I trust, and three I question. I acquired them from Craigslist a couple years back. I met the chairs' original owner in the personals section: man seeking woman was his big opener. At the time I was in the market for something nondescript. We fucked, and he looked at me a little, looked mostly at the wall. We didn't talk much. When it was over he smiled then turned to reassemble himself. As we walked out into the living room, he motioned to a set of dining chairs stranded in the far corner of the room. They were arranged in a rectangle with space in the middle for a table, but there was no table. What happened to the table? I asked. He shrugged languidly and looked at me as if I should understand. You need any chairs? he asked. I gave him two twenties, and he helped me load them into my car.
   
At home I discovered the chairs were of varying degrees of stability. I dug out my screw driver and did my best to tighten what was loose. Some holes were stripped and had no chance of recovery.

I bought a table. I felt better about the whole thing.


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Alice Maglio has fiction in or coming from DIAGRAM, Gone Lawn, Cosmonauts Avenue and others.

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