Mark squinted at the instruction manual, its diagrams as clear as a toddler’s scribble. “Simple assembly,” it promised. He swung the hammer like a sword, driving nails into the wall with the precision of a drunk squirrel. The shelf leaned sideways, whimpering under the weight of his ego.
“You okay in there?” his neighbor, Karen, yelled through the wall. Mark froze. His forehead glistened with sweat, or maybe it was the dust from the ceiling tile he’d accidentally dislodged.
“I’m fine!” he barked, then winced. The shelf groaned, collapsing into a pile of splinters. A cat meowed in the distance, judging him.
Karen appeared, arms crossed, wearing a robe that said “I Survived 2020.” “You’re turning my house into a demolition derby,” she said, eyeing the rubble. Mark tried to smile, but his face had locked into a grimace. He’d spent three hours on this. Three hours!
“It’s… temporary,” he lied, kicking a nail under the couch. Karen handed him a beer. “Next time, call a pro. Or a ghost.” She left, leaving Mark to stare at the wall, now dotted with holes like a bad art project. The shelf? A memory. The nail? Still under the couch.”
