We are surrounded by the Boxes. They are encroaching upon what little territory we still possess. Everything we own is disappearing into them. Soon we will be able to find little to call our own. Everything will have been consumed by the Boxes. But we have a cunning plan, sort of a Trojan Horse in reverse: tomorrow we bring in the Trucks, and our faithful allies will help fill the Trucks with the Boxes (and furniture). On Sunday we finish the job and make a final Broom Sweep of the property. On Monday, we depart like thieves in the, er, morning, for the coast of Maine. We shall prevail.
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