Seventeen file folders. Contents include twenty-eight memos, three blank sheets of paper, one compact disc titled “Sounds of the Ocean,” and six Post-its® featuring various obscenities written in Sharpie®.
One computer. Contents include pornography.
One keyboard. The “H” key is missing.
Three mice. One working, one broken, and one of the rodent variety.
Two mousetraps. Sans cheese.
One stapler. Contents include thirty-two new Swingline® staples and one perpetually jammed off-brand staple, mashed into the mechanism, impossible to remove without blood loss.
One tape dispenser. Contents include Scotch® tape folded onto itself at an absurd angle, barely usable without extra-long fingernails or an alternate object capable of prying up the stuck edge.
One hand sanitizer. Bottle is empty.
One person. Contents include something, swelling from within, suggesting that the fate of the entire universe depends on seventeen file folders, one computer, one keyboard, three mice, two mousetraps, one stapler, one tape dispenser, and one hand sanitizer. Contents include nothing.