Within thirty seconds, five people were standing around Arthur’s desk, staring down at the 6-inch pocket of bread. Arthur instinctively pulled the greaseproof paper tighter around the sourdough, clutching it to his chest like a cornered animal.
"Just lunch," Arthur muttered, keeping his head down. He raised the sandwich to his lips. I Hope You Brought Enough for Everyone! (16.12....
With surgical precision, Arthur hacked the artisanal roll into six equal, microscopic cubes. The prosciutto shredded. The Camembert oozed out onto the dull grey laminate of his desk. The fig glaze smeared into a sticky purple puddle. Within thirty seconds, five people were standing around
"You know, I actually have a 12:30," Miller said, backing away. He raised the sandwich to his lips
Arthur took the smallest, crust-only piece for himself and popped it into his mouth. He then gestured grandly to the five tiny, mangled cubes of bread resting on his desk. "Help yourselves," Arthur said through dry lips.
"Must be nice," sighed Brenda from Logistics, who had just joined the circle holding a cup of instant noodles that smelled faintly of cardboard and salt. "I forgot my lunch today."
Slowly, deliberately, Arthur set the sandwich down on his desk. He reached into his middle drawer and pulled out a heavy pair of industrial steel scissors he used for trimming ledger covers. The crowd gasped in anticipation. Snip. Snip. Snip.