On the table sits the innocuous-looking, black stationery holder which has, till present, not made the purpose of its contents known. Probably to accommodate for its bizarre sense of humour. It stands there, inconspicuously vigilant, waiting for a fumbling human being on the phone who is frantically looking around for a pen with which to write down the number that is exasperatingly being repeated onto his/her tired ear, to look upon it, as it marches into his/her field of vision flaunting its ink laden wealth. The grateful, unsuspecting human plunges forward and pulls out a guileless seeming pen. With a short cry of frustration, the human tosses it aside upon finding it dry. And pulls out another, lacking a cartridge. And then another, with the top impossibly glued on. And then a pencil, with the lead deeply buried in a wooden cocoon…

And the holder just sits there and cackles a silent cackle, it’s smooth surface gleaming in the white tube light.