The underside of a chair’s seat is shaped life a slice of bread. A woman’s body out of order: wide hips and a high and narrow waist that rounds down into a healthy backside. A messy stain wraps around the perimeter, rubbed on thoughtlessly. Just slightly off center and crooked is a stamp, about the size of my little finger, with black numbers partially worn clean: “801363”. Two unstained 1x2s are nailed to the base, ostensibly to strengthen the chair’s base. Each strip is nailed three times, at regular intercals. Two yellow pricetags without prices are peeling off at different places. They are stamped with 0s and 1s. Pricetags are becoming pieces of ephemera. Two dowels pierce the chair’s hips. They are the base of the chair’s back and remind me of the way chairs used to be made. Holes and dowels cut for one another. The undercarriage of the seat drank the stain at different rates which accounts for darker and lighter parts. The seat is held up with four thin lathed spindels, spun into concentric rings, slimming down before they swell proudly and then taper again. The four legs are joined by two simple dowels.