LETTER 21
The Staple
A fictional letter from Management.
Written
Management drew the top floor of a building. There was room for one office. We put our name on its door.
The woman beside us folded it out of sight and began the middle floor.
“Will there be a lift?” we asked.
“You’ll see.”
“We ought to approve what’s going underneath us.”
“At the end.”
We found a stapler on the desk.
“Then nobody should look at ours either.”
We held the fold shut with our left hand and pressed the stapler with our right.
When we passed the paper along, our hand went with it.
“You’ve caught your cuff,” she said.
She reached for the corner.
“Careful. There’s a door just there.”
We moved our chair closer. She finished the middle floor and passed it to the man opposite.
We stood up.
“Could you turn a little?” he asked.
We turned.
When he finished, the building opened as far as the staple allowed.
“Shall I pull it out?” he said.
“We’ll do that later.”
At the bus stop, we put our right arm into our coat.
The building was wider than the other sleeve.
Management