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IF THESE WALLS COULD TALK (standard:humor, 523 words)
Author: kendall thomas Added: Nov 18 2001Views/Reads: 2230/1434Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Trouble starts when young man gets his 1st apartment.


by Will 


George was overjoyed with the apartment.  It was his first. 

After living at home with his parents, five brothers and three sisters
through high school, then four years in a college dorm constantly 
surrounded by other people, it was heavenly to have a place all to 
himself.  To share with no one.  Peace and quiet at last. 

The apartment was furnished, so all George had to do was bring his
suitcase and toothbrush. 

That night he settled down in the full-sized bed for an uninterrupted
sleep, but it wasn’t long before something woke him. 

“George?”  There were monotone voices like Hal in 2001. 

“What?”  George murmured sleepily, then started as he remembered he was
no longer in his dorm. 

“Who is it?  Who’s there?” he asked timidly. 

“It’s us, George.  The walls.” 

“The walls?” 

“Yes, George.  We want to talk.” 

I must be going crazy, George thought. 

“Walls can’t talk,” he said. 

Had he not been numb with shock he would have screamed, run out into the
parking lot.  Got help. 

“But if they could, George, what do you think they’d want to do?” 


“They’d want to talk.” 

And that’s what the walls did from then on. 

From the time George came home from work until he left in the morning,
the walls talked non-stop, endlessly, about everything under the sun:  
fluctuations in the market, weather, sports, opera, sky diving, books, 
movies, women, food, cars, comparative religions, chess -- pawn to king 
four -- and ‘walls’.  God did they love to talk about anything relating 
to walls:  wallboards, wallcharts, wallcoverings, wall bars, wall 
creepers, wallflowers, wall hangings, wall-less, wall mounted, wall 
paintings, wall-plate, wall space, wall-to-wall -- and by association 
always ending up with Wall Street, and thus back to fluctuations in the 
market, and the whole process would start over again.... 

George was falling asleep at work.  Falling behind. 

He would be fired if this state of affairs persisted.  Something had to
be done. 

Fortunately he hadn’t signed a lease; so he moved -- lock, stock and

The next apartment he got wasn’t as nice; still he would have peace and

But that night as he lay down to sleep, exhausted, he realized he wasn’t

“George, we’ve got to talk,” came the familiar monotones. 

Three weeks passed.  Weary.  At the end of his rope, George tottered

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