A commercial invoice
An invoice whose lines and totals fall where the text puts them, and whose QR code lets a telephone pay the exact sum into the exact account with nothing retyped.
This is the sheet a shop prints a hundred at a time, on paper that has already been cut. Everything therefore hangs on one thing: what is drawn has to land inside the pieces the blade has already made, on every sheet of the run, or the whole run goes in the bin and the paper is not cheap.
The sheet here carries fifteen labels, three across and five down. That grid is described by the paper and nothing else — how many labels each way, how big one is, how far apart their corners sit — so the day the shop buys its paper from somebody else, six numbers change and the sheet comes out right again. Print one, hold it up to the light against a blank sheet, and you can see in a second whether those six numbers are the right ones.
Nothing is left out and nothing is simplified: this is the program exactly as it runs, for the developer who uses this library. The third is the description itself: a plain list of what the page has to say, which is what the service is sent.
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An invoice whose lines and totals fall where the text puts them, and whose QR code lets a telephone pay the exact sum into the exact account with nothing retyped.
The note that travels with the goods: a barcode against each article, a box the receiver ticks, and the consignment's own code.
A payslip: eighteen contribution lines with employee and employer shares, the month against the year to date.
A services agreement over two pages where no clause is ever cut in half by a page turn, ending in signature, name and date fields filled in on screen.
A certificate whose border, ribbon and seal are drawn as lines rather than photographed: sharp at any size, and a fraction of the weight.
A boarding pass carrying, as a QR code, the one line the gates at an airport read — one character out of place and it is refused.