I gave Bill a haircut today. Now he’s bigger than ever.
Bill, my desk plant, keeps growing. He won’t stop growing. Dear God, make him stop growing.
It was a snug fit, but I managed to pull myself up from the bottom of the lunch box.
“Hello,” I said. “I bet you weren’t expecting to find me here.” I wasn’t.
How much time passes at the bottom of a lunch box? Minutes? Hours? None at all?
My lunch is gone. I didn’t eat it.
The leaf I pinned to my cubicle wall is growing.
It is great. It is good. (I have to stop it.)
The window is oppressing me.