There was a plethora of people to engage my thoughts and idiosyncracies seemed to be calcifying on the walls with every glance i took. With every scan of the room i swear i saw thought bubbles bursting and wetting my nose as i walked around.
There was an extremely tall, gangly man who's sheer height forced him to slump forward slightly, his eyes looking upwards in a way that, on anybody else, would have looked menacing. However teamed with his perculiar drooping lip it gave him a look of dopiness. Due to his uniform and the instruments in his hands, i assumed he was the janitor. His hair was grey and wiry like the top of cheap dish washing sponges. His eyes were deep into his face and resembled shells with strips and dots of various colour, enclosed in a rough frame of crows feet and dry skin.
"It's not what it used to be", he'd say slowly with a delayed shake of the head as he mopped and shuffled along, dragging a trail of soap suds behind him. He looked weary and, for some reason, seemed the sanest one in there to me. His hands had a kind look to them, as though they were waiting to cradle a baby.
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