The plastic chair, a relic from a less imaginitive epoch in human development, was going to survive long after the nails in the shed had rusted and the planks had collapsed. Entropy was about the change the structure of the place into something less recognizable. The wooden boards would still be there, for a while anyway, until they rotted, but their arrangement one to another, this one nailed over that one, next to the one on its left and the one on its right, would change. The atoms would survive, they always do, but the voids would take on a different shape. Some of the voids would vanish in a flash, and some would move by slow degrees, as if by magic, from the interior to the exterior of the structure. The weeds would foreclose on it like a bank, devour it for nourishment, suck its atoms into their own molecular structure, use them for chlorophyll perhaps and turn their leaves into such vivid shades of green it would hurt the human eye to look at them for long. But all that would happen later, in the future, not now. For now, rain had begun to fall, and the dilapidated place would provide shelter from it depending upon where one chose to sit.