I'm sitting in my office with the windows shut, and my finger in the open jaw of a stapler. It is hot -- humid hot -- and I have the air conditioner off.

The stapler is breathing a slow controlled breath. A drop of sweat drips from my nose. I don't blink, and neither does the stapler. If I do, he will bite down, putting a metal sliver through my thumb; if he blinks, I get to open the window.

It is difficult to share an office with a willful stapler. I'm not sure how it came to be that all our disagreements are settled with a staring contest, or how it came to be that they always have to be done with me having some appendage or another in the piercing jaws of the stapler. But I do remember it was me who asked for a stapler. It would seem that I have made my own bed.

I hope I don't blink. It's too fracking hot in here.