Desk

The desk I’m stitting at is a featureless white rectangle with rounded corners. It supports a pair of giant flat-panel monitors, taller than they are wide and with edges flush, so the pair looks like a giant, luminous book, opened before me. The rest of the surface looks like a battle ground between the Rectangles and the Cylinders. The Rectangles have piles of paper, a notebook, the monitors, a clipboard and no fewer than three sizes of sticky paper pads. The Cylinders count among their members: a cup, a tin of tea leaves, a medicine bottle (with one tiny cyindrical pill inside), a can of compressed air and a handful of pens. I seem to be in league with the Rectangles. Every day I produce more of them and drain the contents of the Cylinders.