Footprints leading nowhere. Or perhaps, everywhere, like a cat who forgot its own shadow.
Day 34: I attempted to teach my toaster poetry. It greets me with burnt sonnets each morning.
In the land of invisible footprints, the coffee pot is king and the microwave is its jester.
Day 12: Sipped tea with the refrigerator; we discussed the merits of being chilled versus frozen.
Day 56: Lamentations of a stapler: Why do we bind papers together only to be themselves bound in drawer purgatory?
In these fragments, we find laughter echoing in the empty hallways of mundane bureaucracy.