It was a typical Monday. The lunch hour had come to a close and Natalie had slipped her left foot out of her shoe and placed it on the edge of her desk. Her weekly office grooming ceremony would soon commence, and Nevin knew it was only a matter of time until a stray trimjectile would arc over his cube wall and either make direct contact with his face or land in his cup of probiotic yogurt.
Root = trim + projectile
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