(Fiction) A birthday party for one of the supervisors is going on. Yellow cake with chocolate icing, paper plates, plastic forks, party napkins. A guy in a suit, I don’t know him, walks by my cubicle holding one of the paper plates, his mouth full, chewing his last bite, folds the plate around his napkin and fork and cake crumbs, leans into my cubicle, reaches around a corner and stuffs the plate in my garbage can. No look, no excuse me, no nothing.

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