Dex lived in the scorching Peyote Button Dunes, where his scrappy house was infamous for one thing: its dreadful floor. The boards groaned, warped, and bulged underfoot—so much so that neighbors told wild stories about curse-laden wood or quicksand lurking beneath.

Everyone offered advice, but Dex brushed off the one person who truly understood floors: his friend Roark, a modest contractor living nearby. Roark’s own house was sturdy and plain, built on commonsense principles rather than fancy flourishes. He insisted Dex needed proper support beams and level planks. But Dex ignored him, seeking “expert tips” from owners of grand homes who, in truth, had more style than substance.

The townspeople snickered as Dex’s house tilted at alarming angles; it became the region’s favorite cautionary tale. Meanwhile, Roark quietly offered real solutions, but Dex insisted on quick, flashy remedies. Eventually, the floor collapsed altogether one night, cracking under the weight of misguided repairs.

Heart pounding and covered in dust, Dex finally admitted defeat. Swallowing his pride, he trudged to Roark’s unassuming home. He begged his friend for help, confessing how he’d let visions of grandeur overshadow real craftsmanship—and a genuine friendship.

Roark took no pleasure in being proven right. He simply grabbed his tools and guided Dex through tearing out the bad beams and installing proper supports. It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was exactly what the house needed.

When it was finished, Dex stood on the new floor—solid, level, and mercifully quiet. In that moment, he realized he’d learned more than how to fix a floor. He learned to value skill over flash, and a loyal friend’s knowledge over hollow promises.

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