"I know the hidden passwords and the uncensored sketches you buried there, dear Desk."
"The Drawer is a blast," chuckled the chair, scratching its wood with an eternal itch. "But it won't tell who borrowed that thirty in sticky notes." It's a drawer, not a detective."
"Stale bread and expired mayo conspire in the corners of chilly oblivion."
"Trust the coldbox to spill its guts about leftovers," jeered the salt shaker, its empathy sealed and seasoned. "But it's really the ice cubes that squeal on your midnight munchies."
"Coins and crumbs tell tales of soirées long past in the lint-ridden abyss."
Sofa murmured through layers of dust, "I cradle your secrets as gently as your parched student essays, my springs yearning for a vintage rendezvous." Tinder's got nothing on this upholstery.
For more tales from the world of the unasked, venture here: In the Shadows
Or perhaps visit our rival's yard: Whispers in the Shed