The Lost and Found Window
Every Friday, Nelson runs the lost-and-found window, and he refuses to file a single vague description. Fill in the missing nouns. The more precise, the funnier.
Nelson's reviewing. When you save, the platypus files your copy in the vague-descriptions drawer it can't stop sneezing at.
Your story is ready. Here is what Nelson read.
Tap or hover over any blue word to see what kind of word you chose.
Every Friday, Nelson worked the lost-and-found window behind the Noun Office, and the descriptions got worse every week.
A man leaned in first. "I lost a ," he said. Nelson didn't glance up. "A thing. Riveting. Be precise, or be gone."
The man regrouped. "Fine. A with a jammed inside it." Nelson finally wrote it down.
A kid slid a across the counter and begged for her missing . The platypus sniffed both and sneezed.
By noon the shelves sagged under , , a cracked , and one deeply suspicious . Nelson labeled each one in tight, exact handwriting.
A woman marched up and demanded her property back. "Describe it," Nelson said. "A ," she tried. "Half the town owns a . Narrow it down."
She frowned, then offered, "The one made of , the near the ." Nelson almost smiled. A vague noun got you a shrug. A precise got you your back.
He stamped the form, slid it across, and pointed at the door. "Filed. , please. Next!"
Other kids have filled in this story too.