We still dream of the 4-hour workday

The loudest thing in the room was the ticking of the clock.

The air conditioning was a drone that easily faded from notice.

The people were silent, distant. Barely murmuring, only heard between the clock ticks.

A small cluster of people drifts closer; on the way to the printer? The copier? To talk to you?

You can't hear them any better.

They are drowned out by the clock, the ticking, ever muffled.

You stare at them blankly, waiting for them to pass or to make their demands.

You stare at them.

Waiting.

They don't notice. They pause, chatting amongst themselves.

You can't hear them, and don't care about anything they'd have to say.

The clock ticks.

Time passes.