The Void waits.

The Void glowers, the coffee table slinks away in shame.

The Void and the coffee table wait. They know that it is a war.

A battle; the Void wins. A schlup, and they both retire and await the next engagement.
Another fight, this time the coffee table walks away victor. The Void's floating is strangely sulky.

The next engagement is a cup of tea; will the owner stupidly forget and place it on the Void? Or will his instincts save him at the last second, leaving the beverage on the correct stand?

The Void and the coffee table clamour for attention; all silently, all still, a clamouring which batters on the doors of a gullible guest's mind. Look at me, they say, look at me.

The Void consumes all that is placed upon it, and the coffee table merely offers support. The scientists, the philosophers, the Ikea representatives all have their own theories and names for the Void.

But there is one thing they all agree on. For as long as there is a Void, the coffee table will fight it. Where there are blocks of floating Void, the coffee tables will compete with them.

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