Linoleum checkered floor of maroon and beige stretches before my feet, seemingly for miles. This pulled apart perspective, extending, plays upon my eyes in an undulation of unease. The wait is long and heavy, heaving of such misplacement churns an awkward understanding of how hell's rivers percolate blistering torture. Which line shall I be shuffled to next? If hell does exist, it must resemble Social Services, downtown Camden, New Jersey. Also, it must be designed with the same checkered linoleum floor. I feel it upon the faces of those who wait (impatiently or patiently, yet, truly tested) here with me, that exacting distaste in a maze of cubicles and hard plastic furniture. Maybe, just maybe, it is only purgatory. Only time will tell.