Coffee Table

Pintu waited patiently in front of the window, pot pie in hand. He stared up the street towards the main road. His eyes fixed on the bend in the distance. The pot pie steamed. Then suddenly his ears perked up, a large van came rattling around the corner. It came to an abrupt stop in front of his house. On the side read Tate’s Tables. Pintu’s ears went higher. As the two short men carried in a large box, Pintu turned on the TV. They removed a shinny coffee table and set it in the wanting spot. Dinner is served.