Once had a long involved coversation with a chair in 1968. It was upholstered to start with, but when it ate the cushions I decided the chair had to go. It didn't want to go. That's when the trouble started.

I was living in an apartment the fourth floor of a building on Delancey Street in New York City's Lower East Side. There would have been no problem if the gas stove hadn't leaked and created a foul-smelling odor that was making all the cockroaches crazy. The cat had been sleeping for three days when the buzzer announced the presence of my best friend who'd been out shopping dressed up like Mickey Mouse. The--wait a minute. This is the wrong thread. Sorry.