A slab of asphalt walks into a bar. It orders a drink and turns to the bartender.
"You know," it says, "I've been feeling rather flat lately."
The bartender stares blankly, unsure how to respond.
The slab continues, "I mean, cars drive all over me day and night. I'm constantly getting patched up, but never truly fixed."
It takes a sip of its drink.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm even real, or just a metaphor for the endless monotony of existence."
The bartender, now visibly uncomfortable, mumbles something about closing time.
As the slab leaves, it turns back and says, "You know what the hardest part is? Letting go."
The bar dissolves into a puddle of tar, leaving only the lingering scent of bitumen and existential dread.