The biscuit tin

Everything a visitor makes on the desk goes in it: notes, the list, drawings, the calculator’s tape, whatever is pinned to the pinboard and the pages set in the galley. It holds one megabyte and says so. It lives in the visitor’s own browser; nothing in it is sent anywhere. It can be emptied into a file and filled again from one, or forgotten all at once.

Unlike the sardine tin on the bench, there is no sea in it. The codex has checked.