my attention went toward garbage today...
I give you the story of an armchair,
according to the "forensic" evidence.
Once upon a time,
an armchair left a dark warehouse
to find itself in a home
where it was loved and cherished,
for a while...
From its location and the demographics on that street,
I can safely assume a a gay guy owned this,
since we are in the Gay Village...
from the first look,
I can assume an accent pillow was kept in permanence on it,
while the armchair sat in permanence under the afternoon sunlight,
causing a discoloration.
I can easily imagine the guy spending hours reading in that chair,
or talking to his friends about his latest conquest[s],
how great he/they were in bed [at first],
then days/weeks later,
how one broke his heart,
and how it was on again, off again, on again, off again,
und so forth...
'till it was finally really over!!
The time variant depends on how quickly a guy falls in love [or not!!],
and how quickly a guy can get over a relationship [if you can call it even that...],
as some guys have a quicker turnover than some others.
But the chair was ever there,
in good times and bad times.
Men may come and men may go,
but the armchair was ever a comforting presence.
Over time though,
the armchair started showing some sign of wear and tear,
and despite its incessant devotion,
its owner decided to get rid of it,
possibly in favor of something new.
But he'll never find a better armchair.
Her demise though seems to be of a suspicious nature...
Another safe assumption:
THE CAT DID IT!!
I should know:
I lost a red sofa to my first cat...