Sense of accomplishment! I finally do some creative fiction writing today. The first fiction I have done in many years. It is a Craigslist ad. Putting my ancient matching blue sofa and easy chair up for sale. The fiction is that these tormented specimens of cotton-wrapped polystyrene are actually worth the $60 and $25 (or $75 if bought together) I am asking for them. I say blue but a better term might be formerly blue. They now lean a little bit grey. A little bit sun-blanched. A little bit dust-coated. In the ad I wax autobiographical and mention that I purchased the items at a furniture boutique in Charlottesville, Virginia back in 2000 — what was I doing there? And in a moment of brave confessional candor I add that my wife and I have never smoked, have never owned pets, and have no children — this is a delicate way of saying that the sofa and chair are not, in my estimation, stinky. Dusty, yes. Faded, yes. Splashed here and there with wine and sweet-and-sour sauce and mysterious moving-van bleachy spatterings, yes. But they are not the stuff of 90s Volkswagen commercials. They’ll be fine in someone’s basement. Or planted in someone’s hipster pad and rebooted as shabby chic. Or reupholstered to a fare-thee-well and then lounged upon relentlessly until they explode or collapse. Someone please just buy them and get them out of my house. To make more room for our terrible Toronto tables.