>The furniture in the abandoned house was missing, destroyed, or run-down... with one exception: a glass-topped coffee table in the living room. It gave off a brand-new otherworldly glow. Sarah approached it first. It would be perfect for her high-end consignment shop. The young yuppies that were constantly moving to the area would pay a small fortune for this old piece of shit. It was wasn't old enough to be an antique, but it was old enough to have a certain... Authenticity? Honesty? Instead of Modern furniture, which is designed to please the consumer, while maximizing profit, this piece was different. You could tell the motivation behind its maker. He wanted to make something nice. He wanted to make something he was proud of. He wanted to feel Pride. So Sarah called her helper, Samuel, and they put it into the back of the van, and hauled it back to the shop. It sat there for weeks. Many looked at it, not merely looking at it, but gazing at it for peculiarly long periods of time. They seemed hypnotic, men and women alike, and their lips seemed to murmur, and if they were replying to an unheard voice. But Sarah would approach them, and offer to sell it for a reasonable price, maybe $85.00. Their response was always so similar. >it's so beautiful... but can't think of a place to put it. It would never fit in our house. Until the man in a Courderay jacket walked in. He walked directly to it, and pointed towards it. >This. I need this. Sarah was optimistic, she was to sell an item that was taking up floor space and distracting customers from other items. >Quite a piece, customers often look at it for hours. What's your offer? The man checked his watch. >Whatever you would like. It just has to be now. >$300.00? Sarah asked it timidly, knowing it was a reach. >Here is $500.00. Give your boy a handsome tip, and ask him to help me load it into my Prius. Make sure he doesn't break the glass. And so Sarah called for Samuel. And they loaded the piece into the Prius. >This piece is important to me. This is a thing without a place... Don't tell them who it was sold to. That wouldn't be pleasant. The man in the Courderay jacket drove off, and then the Sun went out.