Today, there was a tiny bug crawling on my desk at work. I put a half pint can on top of him (knowing there was space to crawl around in under the can) so that when I got off work, I could scoop him up and put him back outside. Five minutes later, I looked under the can to make sure he was ok, and he was dead. Laying on his back, legs up in the air. I somehow killed him. Or he freaked out and somehow killed himself. Anyway, I felt bad. So I’m telling this story, of his final moments, so that at least someone will remember him.