It’s a Dumb World Sometimes, by Amy Friedman

Maddie was on her sixth story of the day. Her head ached, her eyelids felt red and heavy, and her article workload file was staying obscenely full. Eight to go, still, and it was only noon-thirty.
A “hi” to her left registered.
“Want to go to lunch?” said Warren, her cube mate. His round blue eyes and round, velveteen-fuzzed head appeared above the wall separating their workspaces.
Maddie eyed her desk. She had just demolished an enormous chocolate mint cupcake. Her wastebasket was emitting an odd, citrus-tinged banana peel reek. She was quite full. Not another bite.
“Sure,” she said.

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