Set under the monitor is a yellow piece of paper nicely folded in half with a message of adoration intended for my eyes.
And from the corner of my eye, I can see the lady in front of me browse an adoption web site; I am a peeping rose.
The rain outside has silenced itself and classical music, Chopin I believe, has replaced the moonsoon lullaby.
My day has already exasperated and now I wait for tomorrow.
Tomorrow I start a new job.
And no longer pretend to be able to write while surrounded by strangers and with a time limit ticking at the top of the page.