It was installed by the computer’s previous owner, a ghost she’d never met. She couldn’t delete it. She’d tried. The shortcut resisted, as if pinned to the fabric of the operating system by a thread of guilt. “You might need it,” a dialog box once warned. For what? To remember her high school bully’s new haircut? To watch her cousin’s baby take its first step in a 480p vertical video?
She would double-click.
The ‘f’ was leaning.