The last time I played table tennis

was two years before you were even born.
I’d just retrieved the ball from the corner of the room and returned to take my serve. Standing there, hunched over the table with the ball enveloped in my hand, something altered.
The ball felt heavier and wonky.

Bringing it closer to my face, I slowly opened the hand flat and looked at what was in it.
OMFG. It looked exactly like an egg. Trying to hide my surprise, I gently shifted my focus to the Duchess across the table. Did she see what I could? Didn’t look like it; still hopping from foot to foot waiting for the service, wearing that ridiculous sun visor.

I served it. Yolk and white went every which way. A fragment of shell got in her eye and she started crying.
It looked and felt like an egg but I hit it anyway.
Standing there awkwardly, watching her bawl, thinking how awkward this all was, a door collapsed open and countless piglets flooded over the floor. Like a leaning tower, I gradually lost my footing and fell over. The piglets were extremely soft and manicured, as if they had never been outside. Some sniffed at my face and it tickled.

A third man stood a bit off to the side by a lampshade, pushing the last remaining molar around with his tongue. It’s root hung onto the gum a little longer, and to the tongue, felt like craters and peaks on the moon.

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