I have gone through all my books and stacked them in two orderly piles towards the far end of the table. The most distant pile is roughly double the size of the other. I have also gone through all my letters, removing all the bills and placing them together in one place. In the process of tidying up, I discovered three pens – red, black and blue – beneath the various bits of paper, also a few coins, which together add up to 85 cents. Neither of the two bowls have moved. There is a pineapple and a large banksia seed pod in the wooden bowl. The ceramic bowl contains small, easily lost things, as well as two bereft pieces of fruit – an apple and an orange. I expect that I will eventually eat the orange, but the apple, despite its proud sticker, will almost certainly be discarded. I had expected to clear my table completely, but that would be pointless. The contents of my table undermine the abstract possibility of surface.
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