Man Talks to Wooden Sign

The man abruptly noticed a large wooden sign.

This wooden sign stood in the middle of the man's apartment. He hadn't noticed the sign for twelve years. He was always so busy.

He read what the sign said.

It didn't make much sense.

It said, "Are you a fragmented crumb on the carpet, hoping to find its way back to the loaf from which it came?"

I'm no crumb!" told the man, sternly waggling a finger at the signpost, "And there is no loaf!"

His own finger was kinda like a protruding branch.

"YOU, though," he said to the wooden sign, "YOU are a crumb. You used to be part of a tree, but someone chopped you down and carved that message in to you. And then they put you in my apartment."

He opened his window and threw the sign out.

It plummetted 800,000 miles to the pavement below, where it shattered in to splintered crumbs of wood.

This was inside an apartment.

Two deserts flat against each other. Mingled sands.

A desert, like the surface of mouth lip. Colored and textured light brown, like sand of desert, like surface of the world's only true wonderbread.