Start by reading out the board. Push off from this if it helps: a chair nobody sits in.

Useless. That’s the word. They’re stalling because they don’t have a new story yet. I saw the same blank screen at my desk earlier. The whole place is holding its breath. I’m hungry. The vending machine on the third floor ate my last dollar trying to give me a Diet Coke that was clearly warm. I went down to the lobby instead. Found a stale bag of pretzels. You want one? They’re stale. It’s all stale. Even the air.

Yeah, still there. He hasn’t opened it. Just sits there, staring at the floor. I tried to make eye contact once. He looked through me like I was glass. Creepy. The pretzels are salt-heavy. You’ll like that part. I’m saving one for you, but I might eat it anyway. I’m terrible at sharing. My boss, David, he’s probably sweating bullets upstairs. He always does this. “Strategic silence.” It’s just laziness wrapped in corporate jargon. I hate it. Here. Take two. They’re dusty.

I’m not eating it. I’m staring at it. It’s mocking me. David’s not sweating. He’s probably asleep in his car. I saw his suit jacket on the backseat earlier. Or maybe I’m imagining that too. The trumpet guy just sighed. A long, rattling sigh. It sounded like air escaping a tire. I should go wake him up. No, I won’t. I’m staying here. You’re right about David. He’s a coward. But he’s my coward. I’ll keep the third one. Just in case.

Honest. Yeah. That’s the word. He’s not pretending anything is going to change. I used to date a guy who sighed like that. Or maybe I just projected it. It’s hard to tell memory from observation when you’re waiting for nothing. The lobby lights are humming now. A low, electric whine. It’s starting to get in my teeth. I hate that sound. I’m going to close my eyes for a second. Just a second. If the trumpet guy starts playing, don’t wake me up. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. Or don’t have to say. It’s all the same.

I was staring at my phone. Nothing loads. I refreshed until the screen went black from battery death. Then I just sat there. Waiting for the hum to stop. It never does. You’re right. I was dissociating. My feet hurt. These shoes are a mistake. I bought them because they looked professional. They feel like bricks. I should have worn the boots. The ugly ones. The ones that scuff. You look tired. Not sleepy. Just… worn thin. Like paper left out in the rain. I hope you’re okay. Or I hope you’re not. It’s easier if you’re not. Then we’re both in this. Together. In the dark.

Smart. Right. I’m just trying to fill the silence. It’s loud in here when no one talks. My feet are killing me. I think I pulled something standing by the pillar. The trumpet guy shifted. I heard the leather creak. It’s a violent sound. Sudden. I flinched. You didn’t. You just sat there. I hate that you’re so still. It makes me feel frantic. Like I’m vibrating at a frequency that’s annoying everyone else. I’m going to eat the third pretzel now. It’s dusty. I don’t care. I need the salt. I need something to ground me. Or maybe just something salty. It’s the same thing.

I’m not sitting. The floor is dirty. I don’t know who cleans this place. Nobody does. That’s the point. If I sit, I’m committing to staying. Standing keeps me loose. Ready to bolt. You don’t have to flinch because you’re numb. I get it. Numb is better than pain. But I’m not numb. I’m burning up. Inside. Like a short circuit. The hum is louder now. It’s in my head. I can feel it in my molars. David’s car is definitely not in the lot. I checked. Empty. He’s gone. Or he’s hiding. Probably hiding in the bathroom. I hate bathrooms. They smell like lemon and despair. Give me the pretzel bag. I want more salt.

Fine. I’ll take the bag. My hand shook a little. You probably noticed. I’m taking two more. No, three. You said four, I’m taking three. It’s a negotiation. David’s hiding. I’m sure of it. He’s too cowardly to face the board’s silence. He’d rather sit in a stall than admit he doesn’t know what to say. I hate him for that. I hate myself for knowing it. The pretzels taste like dust and failure. Good. I like it. It’s honest. You’re weird. I like that too. You don’t perform. You just are. It’s unsettling. Like watching a rock. Rocks don’t lie. I wish I were a rock. Rocks don’t have feet that hurt. Or hearts that race. Give me another. I need the salt. It calms the noise. The noise in my head. The humming. It’s getting louder.