A sense of malaise had set itself into the stone of the building
The clouds pregnant with promise of storms
Everyone inside held their breaths
Waiting for the first pin to drop
But it doesn’t come
Instead it builds up
A dreadful space filled with cigarette butts
The air acrid with sweat

And we persist
In spite of them
Our shadows a crowd
Crawling out from the walls
We think aloud
And the ears that pry litter the halls

And in our breath, the air is rigid and stagnant
Our lungs sensing only absence