From the 7th floor janitor's closet

This is Bobby Feathers reporting live from the 7th floor janitor's closet. It's just me and this squirrel, who arrived a few minutes after me. I've named the squirrel Stinky. We'll be best friends until another squirrel arrives, then we'll have that awkward moment when the new squirrel realizes his true love for Stinky. They'll leave the janitor's closet, in love and looking for a wall to crawl into. And I'll be here, forced to choose between the mop bucket and a can of Ajax.

I've been with a mop bucket before. Back in the 1980s, when fluorescent overalls were the big thing, I met a mop bucket named Gary at a flea market in West Corcoran. We fell madly in like and spent most of our time talking about the future: what could possibly be dumped in Gary; what might fall out of my nose when I sneezed; Gary's debut with Mop Buckets on Ice. But one day the magic was gone. Or maybe it was my pants. Either way, one day my pants were gone. Gary suspected me of cheating on him with a dish rag. He threw all of my paper clips out of the window and told me never to come back.

I was devastated, and I never played the clarinet again.