Before the wings, there was the table: gray laminate, one short leg, and a talent for appearing exactly where somebody needed to set down a sandwich.
Then came the overnight scan. The machine flashed. The lights blinked. The table stood up on four anatomical legs and looked at the technician with the expression of someone who had been waiting all evening.
“It didn’t escape. It simply decided the room was no longer interesting.”
Since then, sightings follow a pattern: a low electrical hum, a sudden breeze, and every loose receipt pinned perfectly beneath a glass of water. Witnesses report excellent manners and a refusal to discuss the face.
The official recommendation is simple. If it lands nearby, clear a space. If it offers you a seat, politely explain the geometry. If it smiles, check your lunch.
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