The chipped enamel of the waiting room chair catches the fluorescent glare, casting a faint, dusty halo across the wet grout lines. Mid-afternoon, the lobby hums with the low, persistent thrum of unseen machinery, a sound that suggests onward movement. Near the corner, the fish tank sits, its water level visibly low, exposing the dark, algae-stained gravel beneath. A slow, rhythmic drip escapes the tank’s edge, marking time against the polished tile. People tend to gather near this spot only when the aquatic life ceases its movement, when the fish settle into an unnatural, suspended stillness. They do not look at the clock; they look into the glass, waiting for the next shift in the water’s surface. The air carries the faint, sharp scent of chlorine mixed with damp concrete, a smell that speaks of transit and temporary pause.
static · calm