Beyond my reflection the heat sticks to the glass like honey but I’m freezing in my branded vest. My bare arms feel naked and my farmer’s tan exposes me. I lift my heavy eyes to watch the clock, the air presses down heavier with each _tick. _The chorus of a hundred screens whisper taunts at me from across the room, some buzzing about like wasps, some large, stationary, waiting for activation.

People prattle about with shaded lips, eyeing me critically as I slog across their field of vision. My insecurities scream at me in their voice. An elite few blare their lungs with no mind to others, their questions set forth like threats. Yet the silences between are the most unnerving - a hundred eyes on me as I speak. The larger the room, the more the ghosts haunt my vision.

I look around as I text imagined slights to my partner, who does the same to me, or simply ignores me.

“Temporal capsules”, he reminds me after the fifth complaint. “That’s all this is. Eyes forward, chin up, collect your check.”

The smell of coffee affirm his statements.

Always, I watch the clock.