WESTWOOD — Early Monday morning, an area house key realized it had misplaced its owner and became late for work while searching for him. “Goddamnit. You know, this is so fucking typical. I set him down for one second! And then poof, he’s gone,” said the inanimate object in a method of speech incomprehensible to carbon-based life-forms. “Okay, he’s not in the pocket of my pants from yesterday, he’s not under my nightstand…maybe under the couch cushions? Ugh, I can’t even remember the last time I cleaned under these. Why are my hands sticky now?!” After washing its nonexistent hands, the key woke its roommate, the man’s wallet, to ask if the wallet would be home this afternoon or if it should just risk leaving the door unlocked.
