A man sat at his desk. His shift was nearly over, and thoughts of returning home drifted through his head. Returning to a warm, comforting fire; the dogs jumping at him and licking his face, his son running up to him and grabbing his leg in a juvenile sign of affection. Of course, since he lived at work, this was merely a daydream. Or more appropriately, an eveningdream.
He raised his hands, and then lowered them to the keyboard. He began to quickly stroke keys in succession to form sentences. Later, he thought to himself, I’ll greet Stanley as I leave my cubicle. Maybe have something from the cooler. I’m considering water. Maybe run into the boss, congratulate him on the kind o’ establishment he’s runnin’ here. But since it was just th’ desk, he really couldn’t do any of that.
He took a breath of fresh air and clutched his mouse, moving the cursor to the Print button. Click. He waited in silence for minutes. The idea crossed his mind that he should clean the desk. Maybe even give it a little smooch of approval. But that would be silly. He was the desk. And hold on, why is a desk having such intimate thoughts? This is so very odd that I think we’ll end it right here.
And now you know…the rest of the story.