Those crumbs must be stale

There was a Japanese invasion on my desk this morning. My meager possessions–laptop, backpack, stainless cups, rolling drawer–were transferred to the cubicle at the back, transposed, effortlessly, like cells in a spreadsheet. Tiny red ants crawled on my new desk. I investigated the cause. Biscuit wrappers lay at the bottom of the plastic trash bin. Someone told me the woman who once occupied my desk now lives in a province up North, tending to mountain goats.

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