I’m imagining a “Night At My Office.” When I was young, I yearned to one day have a workspace like my father’s: walls and doors and nearly every other available flat surface decorated to the nines with objects de intelligentsia. But now that I have Henry-fied my office—hardly a square foot of bare wall or door to be found—sometimes I wonder what happens when I turn off the lights and depart for the night:

(Creaking and rustling sounds)