Stapler roars and stretches. Staples fly in directions. Papers that shouldn’t get posted get posted, blank pages and pages that already have words.

Stapler wanders out onto the desk, and writing utensils scatter, scrawling in cursive as they flee.

The writing is on the wall, and the desk. At the desk, a woman is beginning to understand her life. Stapler attacks her. What is this longing?

A man hears her appeals. He enters the office. “Are you all right?”

Stapler turns on him. The ceiling smells like work. The floor does what floors do. Stapler posts the man on the wall by the blank paper.

Stapler runs out of staples. The woman reads the man on the wall. She takes him down.