"Wow, Arthur," Sarah said, leaning in so close her lanyard swung over his keyboard. "That looks incredible. Is that real prosciutto?" "It's Italian," Arthur whispered. "Imported."
"Just lunch," Arthur muttered, keeping his head down. He raised the sandwich to his lips.
Across the row of cubicles, a pair of glasses poked up over a fabric wall. It was Miller from Accounting.
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.
Arthur watched in horror as Sarah followed Miller. Then, like meerkats sensing rain, three more heads popped up from the data entry pool.