Sexual tensions arise when a man named Alexander and a woman named Cleo share an office cubicle in a not-so-distant future where there are so many people dead there is no more land to bury them and there is a city-wide mandate to bury people in their offices. Published by H-ng-m-n B–ks. Limited edition hand-sewn books by artist Sara Lefsyk.
Chapter 7. Alexander Admits It (Occasionally, I remove your brain through your nose) Sure, I’ve thought about fucking you in my desk chair, silently not to disturb the neatness of your yellow summer dress. Silently not to disturb our colleagues in surrounding cubicles. You putting small paperclips in my hair, your hands suggesting the rocking of my skull. You straddling my lap, my bare ass in my desk chair shapes suctioning into each other— We would continue to make the sounds of good business. A conference call with Coca-Cola, an email to Citibank, a spreadsheet of year-over-year gross profits. You elevated in my lap, your face clearing just over the cubicle partition just visible enough across the office, your expression dismembered like a poet who’s fallen out of favor with her king.