I turn on the light and walk down the stairs, heading to the dusty basement storage room. Why am I the one always sent after the files? Is it just because the Captain claims everyone who ate those mangoes developed severe allergies? Or do they want to get me out of the office so that they can rifle through my files and mis-alphabetise all the folders on my desk?

I push open the door and glance fondly at the mannequin in the corner. His flannel shirt is in need of washing.