Why is it that although I spend most of the day trekking to the kitchen for another cup of tea, every time I pick up my tea cup, it's empty? And why is that this is only true at work?
Why is it that David has spent the last seven years busing two-thirds full cups of cold tea that I have left scattered all over his house when, in fact, a nice hot cup of tea is my primary fuel? Especially as when he made me those cups of tea I was seconds away from total prostration from lack of tea?
Clearly, tea molecules move through space and time, shifting themselves from my desk here at work to David's house. They lose heat, of course, as they do this, but - as we learn in Arcadia - the universe's major occupation is heat dissipation.
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