An armchair called Stocksund felt without agency and also a little desperate. It longed for the quiet days at the warehouse when it had just been born and was still in a flat package. Now, Stocksund was frazzled and worn thin, especially on the armrests. It didn’t know how much longer its upholstery could cope with the spit, pee, pureed broccoli, scratching, rubbing, and biting. And yesterday, Stocksund oversat a conversation where--oh, the horror--the male human concluded, screaming and crying, that it was time for the two of them to finally have some children or at least a pet.
Music pairing: We’re Not Gonna Take It by Twisted Sister