The viscous glue lays in a glass. A jilt of the table knocks it over. Uncurling itself from the languid position, it begins the journey. Millimeting its way out, like some here to, unknown horrid flood of sap. A rather lame flood, that most elderly and morbidly obese could (if the battery on their, medicaid financed, Hover Round, did not give out) outrun. Lava, after cooling, reshapes the world. As though channeling it's long lost predecessor, the glue too,  comes to a sluggish halt and ruins the table.