The Table
The Table. Where the broken go to sit. They pour out their souls there. They laugh there. They cry there. They laugh until they cry there. They break there. They become whole there. The secrets that this object hold are a broad range of subjects. From relationships, to coworkers, to calls, to trauma, to healing, and beyond. The table knows everything. The accomplishments, the failures, the breakdowns, the build ups. Usually decorated with 4-6 chairs that don't match, kind of like the people that claim space around The Table. The table, made of metal legs with an OSB/Formica top, edges peeled revealing the pressed wood underneath. With scrapes and scars of days gone past, the occasional pen mark or piece of tape stuck to it out of boredom. The random holes that aren't clearly of any use, maybe the result of someone bored with a drill, or other tool. The Table is covered in random objects that must be heavy to survive the bay winds. Pieces and parts of projects, a tablet, a towe...