Saving A Bottle Neck

I erased a Paul Bunyan sized buttload of files off my computer. The above pic was the only image to survive the purge - a radically cropped snapshot of a water cooler. How did it escape? Not a clue. Not on my end anyway. I wanted it all gone. Plucked clean as a Sunday chicken. No fossilized relics deposited in layers of byte strata to be unearthed at some future date and interpreted by teams of grant-funded researchers. No evidence on the hard drive for police investigators to build a case around. Nothing. Zero. Freakin' tabula rasa. That was the plan, dastardly as it may seem. And it almost worked. Very nearly. But it fell short, by the tune of one pic. One wiley little pic. Maybe it was divine intervention. Cosmic deliverance. The cyber gods punishing me for my hubris. A symbolic smackdown. Or maybe the pic caught wind of my plan and took matters into it's own hands. Finding a nook somewhere within the jumble of micro-circuitry, it crouched down, not making a sound, waiting for the exterminating angels to do their work. Small and hidden it lay trembling as the grim passover claimed it's victims. Later, when the screams died down and the smoke cleared, after the clatter of wing-ed marauders running to and fro faded slowly off and away, trailing fainter and fainter into settled silence, the pic stood up and looked around. What did it see? Desolation. An apocalyptic wasteland.