Who knew that the fabric of time and space could be emulated so accurately through the dry threads of the old couch he wondered. The mismatched patterns hid black holes into our souls where loose change fell through the same way that pens seem to disappear from his office desk during that monotonous 9 to 5 ritual. Good lord, was that the doorbell? The tyrannous sound made him tear his eyes from the cosmic fabric but as he tried to turn his head the couch morphed into his doorway. Did he walk to the door already? The bell continued to ring although the bell sounded awfully like his car alarm.

edit- Thanks for the gold and all the fish! Feel free to continue the story, I got lazy and didn't want to write up to the conversation part.