He's gone, but he's still around.
The way it went was that we all went to lunch, all of us except Kip - who would do that a lot, just kind of take some time alone at his computer. When we came back, he wasn't there, and we would've thought he was somewhere eating alone, except all his clothes were draped over his seat.
Nobody knew quite what to make of it. He was very shy and reserved, even when he came out drinking and had a few with us. But not shy in the crazy way either, like not the kind of guy who would be bottling up weird thoughts all day, only to snap at his desk, strip down, and run for the door. I mean, I guess I didn't know Kip very well - none of us did really - but you can just tell stuff about some people, and about Kip, what you could tell was "this guy's stable and in control.
After a while though, that feeling faded in the office, and soon enough, the rumors started, and then it was like everyone had "seen the signs." Now, it's like we're not just data entry professionals; we're psychologists, and every offhanded comment Kip had ever made or every time he'd stopped typing to just stare at his screen and grin, it's all taken and panned gold-rush style for signs of insanity.
But I stay out of that stuff, not because I don't care about Kip, but because I have my own theory that I'm too embarrassed to talk to anyone about. But it all adds up - the clothes on the chair, his disappearance without a trace, the fact that no one (not even his family) had seen him since that day.
That's why I stayed late one night and, after everyone else had left, switched my computer with his. Kip's in there, I just know it. Every time I put my fingers on the keyboard and type, every time I move a file, I can sense Kip watching the process from inside. And maybe this is the even crazier part - I feel like Kip's happy in there.
Wear this shirt: to circuit training.
Don't wear this shirt: if you're just not wired to wear graphic tees.
This shirt tells the world: "Let's connect."
We call this color: black, charred motherboard.