The day he brought a rubber-dart pistol to work, Deano found his cubicle had already vanished. He heckled himself, and then made a joke to a moving guy with grease on his thumbs and a long, long stare. Deano looked for his desk, but it was gone. Even his retro "The ProWriter Cometh" poster had abandoned him.
      Out to pasture on a technicality, he presumed. He pulled the novelty plunger on the gun, pointed the barrel at the dirty window, and clicked the trigger. The dart didn't stick, but bounced off. It fell into a depression in the carpet.

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This story stems from a fascination with ellipses and a human's built-in need for purposeful labor.