When I looked under my seat I was surprised to find a wadded piece of paper with what appeared to be someone's handwriting on it. When I unwadded the whitish ball, I realized upon closer inspection that it was a short story. This is how it went:

"He was very surprised to discover the wad of paper under his seat, and out of curiosity he decided to unwad it and have a look. Someone else's handwriting revealed a short story, and it went like this:

'For the last week or so he had been having this annoying crick in his neck which irritated him so much that he became aggressive and angry. There seemed to be no easy way to shake it off. Solidified neck vertebrae sealed together like some secret conspiracy to take over, unwilling to give in and accept the inevitable. Glued together and then what? As if the pain were not restrictive enough, it was indeed the lack of or the restricted angle of lateral motion which made things a hundred times worse than it should have been. As a distraction in order to reduce the crick he found a piece of paper and recorded his observations, on second though felt what he had written useless, thereby wadded the piece of paper up and dropped it below his seat. The slight draft along the floor when the doors opened blew the wad of paper backwards under his seat and he never saw it again.'

He decided that it wasn't worthwhile, wadded it up again, tossed it back under the seat for the next unknowing person to discover, if ever that would be."

Interesting, but not interesting enough, so I wadded up the paper again and tossed it back between my legs and underneath the seat where it belonged.