Four walls and a dingy floor. Three tables and a Coke machine. One sink and two microwaves. It’s the saddest looking breakroom. Others are reading, texting, eating. But she isn’t. She’s lost in thought. I wonder what she’s thinking about.
A wasp flies into view and perches itself on the white cupboard above the sink. She rises and moves toward the little beast, pausing to pick up an abandoned magazine. After folding it into a cylindrical weapon she swats the bug, down it goes. It lands on the countertop with a crispy –tink!-. She brushes it into the waste basket and walks back to her seat. And as she sits, she laughs at something. I laugh with her, but not where she can hear. Somebody claps briefly and she flashes them a nod and a grin. Then off she goes, back into her thoughts. What are they about, I wonder. What are they about?