Her pen dropped. The scent of roses filled the air. She knew the only one with a rose scent was around, though she was alone. As soon as the scent faded, she bent to pick up her pen, but it had already gone to another dimension, just as it always would when any of her pens fell. She remembered how that dunce would always pick up any that fell and add them to her ever-expanding collection of all sorts of pens in her pencil case or in her pocket. She remembered how her partner would show her the collection, and how large it had become since day one.

She remembered that dead dolt every time that happened.