Her sitting in at the desk was not a mere exercise of mouse-clicking. They —the ones upstairs— were expecting results. Results was another word for numbers that should grow like bamboo stalks. It was easy to imagine the ones upstairs waking up each morning in hopes of finding bigger numbers in their garden of data. Then they would pick them and arrange them in lovely bouquets, use them to garnish pie charts, and serve them to almost abstract entities on a level so high that it might as well transcend the rooftop.
She sat in front of the computer and tried to feed the numbers.