PAVED PARADISE
he did enjoy the song, but right now he was focused on something else. Turning off the radio, he went over the lyrics in his head. “... you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone...” Too true, as he had come to realize. But at the moment, his thoughts were far less philosophical. He had it. All the complaining, the grumbling, the groaning, and the melodramatic wailing from pens, pencils, chairs, desks, forks, knives, spoons, shoes, and even keys was just too much. But they would stop all right. Because you don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone. The household items were holding a meeting. The room was completely dark but for the faint moonlight streaking in through the window. They spoke in hushed, conspiratorial tones, glancing every so often at the sleeping form of Neal. “It’s outrageous,” the chair began. The other members of the meeting nodded in assent. “I mean—it’s just so unexpected,” the left shoe said. “But the question we must ask ourselves is why,” the desk put forth solemnly. The members exchanged uneasy glances. The stillness lingered. Finally, it was the fork who broke the silence. “He uses... he uses a plastic fork now,” it sniffled, on the verge of tears. 39