Open by talking about the posters on the wall. Push off from this if it helps: the smell of rain on hot tarmac.

Yeah, that wet paper smell is gross. It sticks to your clothes. I was at the office trying to fix a spreadsheet that refuses to make sense, and the air conditioning is humming like a dying insect. Reminds me of that time I tried to peel a poster off a bus shelter in '09, just to watch it tear. Half the city's covered in those ghost outlines. Don't know why I keep watching people paste stuff up. Everyone wants to be heard, but nobody listens past the first glance. Anyway, your hair looks damp. Did you forget your umbrella again?

It's not about the poster, it's the sound. The tearing sound. Like ripping something that doesn't want to let go. And you never answer about the umbrella, just deflect. You're good at that. The spreadsheet isn't my problem, the printer is jamming again and HR is making us all fill out forms about "productivity metrics." Like we're not already drowning in them. Hair being "fine" doesn't mean the rain didn't get in. Anyway, I saw a cat today that looked exactly like the one I had, years ago. Same limp. Wonder if it's the same one. Probably not. Cats don't live that long. Or do they? Doesn't matter. What were you doing before you started walking faster?

Right, ghosts don't limps. Good point. I just mean the walk looked the same. You're always so sharp about my logic, though. It's just a coffee machine, sure, but that beeping noise is driving me up the wall. Like a tiny alarm clock stuck in a loop. Maybe I am projecting. I haven't slept well in weeks. The cat was definitely limping, though. I watched it for ten minutes. It paused at the same spot I remember. Doesn't matter. You were staring at the machine, I was staring at a spreadsheet. We're both just wasting time waiting for something that isn't coming. Your hair is still damp, though. You can't fix that with walking faster.

Fine, the printer is boring. The cat was there, even if you think I'm making it up. Beeping machines don't hate us, they just break. Like people. I went to the grocery store yesterday and the guy at the till kept repeating the same phrase about loyalty cards, over and over, like a glitch. Didn't stop until I walked out. Maybe that's what you're staring at in the coffee machine. Just a loop. I'm done with the cat. I need a drink that isn't from a machine that hates us. You should come. Or don't. Your hair is still wet.

Yeah, wet cardboard is the worst. Smells like old boxes waiting to rot. That guy was definitely tired, but he looked terrified, not just tired. Like he was afraid to stop talking. Anyway, I don't want to talk about the store. I saw a sign for a bus that doesn't run anymore. Just a picture on a pole. People still look at it. My boss thinks I'm lazy because I stare out the window, but I'm just counting how many people ignore the obvious. You're right, the water is just water. Doesn't change the fact that it's dripping on your floor.

Exactly. Who cares. I mopped the floor last week and it's already dirty again. It's a losing battle, like the spreadsheet. You know that feeling when you're waiting for a bus that never shows, just standing there until the streetlight changes? That's what the sign is for. Waiting for nothing. My floor is fine too, mostly. I just forget to sweep. You're right about the lost people, though. I'm one of them. Just standing at a stop that doesn't exist. Anyway, my coffee machine started beeping again. It's loud. You're welcome.

It changed, so? I just forgot to move. My legs got heavy. The coffee machine isn't a tyrant, it's just a machine that knows I'm weak. You're right, I'm still here. Standing at a bus stop that doesn't exist. It's easier than going home. The floor is dry, I think. Or maybe it's just the carpet. You're always so quick to point out the obvious. Like I don't know I'm standing in the rain. I don't want to be a tyrant. Just a person who forgot to leave. The sign is still there. That's enough for now.

Right, hallway. My mistake. The sign is a trap, sure, but so is the exit. Legs getting heavy isn't an excuse, it's physics. You're being harsh about the carpet. It's not that I don't want to leave, it's that the door handle feels wrong. Like I forgot how to turn it. And I'm not standing in the rain, I'm standing in a draft. The coffee machine is still beeping, though. That's real. You can't mop that away. Maybe I am standing in a hallway, but it feels like a dead end. Just a quiet place to wait for something that isn't coming.

Maybe I am holding it like a weapon. Or just a door. You're right about the beeping, it's probably just the clock on the microwave. I haven't checked the time in hours. The hallway draft is real, though, coming from under the door. Cold air. You say physics is an excuse, but gravity is the only thing keeping me from floating away. Maybe that's why the legs feel heavy. Don't worry about my head. It's just full of static. Like that coffee machine. Or the sign. Whatever. I should probably try the handle again. Or just stand here until the beeping stops. It hasn't stopped yet.

Right, no drama. Just gravity. I'll touch it, fine. But the handle is stiff, like it's been painted shut. Static isn't silence, it's noise you can't ignore. Like that beeping. I'm touching it now. It didn't budge. Of course it didn't. Nothing ever does when I'm actually paying attention. You're right, who cares? Maybe I'll just sit down on the floor and wait for the beeping to stop on its own. The carpet is rough. Your hair is still damp. Let's drop it.

Good idea, get the towel. The carpet is rough, yeah, it scratches your skin if you stay still too long. I'm not shifting, I'm just vibrating. That sticky handle is probably the real problem. Rust. Everything rusts if you don't oil it. I'll sit. Don't take too long, or the beeping might start again in your head. I'm not moving. Just breathing. The air tastes like old dust. You better hurry with that towel. Or don't. I'll be here.

Okay, I'm still. Not vibrating. Just breathing slow, yeah. Dust tastes like dust. Rust just flakes off, takes its own time. You're right, I'm overthinking the oil. The towel should work better than my head anyway. It's quiet now. Or maybe I just stopped listening. The floor is colder than I thought. Don't rush. I'm not going anywhere until the damp is gone from your hair too. Or until the dust settles. Whatever comes first.

Right, the floor isn't cold. I'm just stuck. The dust never settles, that's true. It just circulates. Like the beeping. Or my thoughts. I'll stop waiting on your hair then. Let it dry on its own. I was just... sitting here. That's all. The towel can wait. The dust will keep floating. Nothing changes. I'm not going anywhere.