In the Office of the Lost & Found the dust lies thick upon the ground, the windowsills, the chairs, the tables, and the desks of the clerks. Their bald heads shine and they blink owlishly behind their spectacles as they search the Records of Reduced Potential, inscribe with scratchy goose quill pens in the Ledgers of Lost Opportunity, and update the Files of Futile Undertakings.
The dead wait forlornly for each soul's number to be called; each sitting or standing as far away from the next ghost as possible; each holding zir particular despair close, fearing contamination. Every so often, the Noticeboard of Neurotic Behaviours lights up, and one of the dead approaches the Counter of Curious Dilemmas...
(to be continued)
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