White smudges like maps line the walls.
Crinkled bills sit on the counter.
The shades have wiped away the sun.
And humming drifts through the room,
Without a greeting.

Air sits thick upon the chest.
A pencil skipping skillfully to the tune,
Of Rosemary Clooney.
A single bead of moisture glides towards the desk.

One single tear of a paper takes us from Monday to Tuesday.
And it's here we find ourselves.
Again and again and again.

Until everything changes once again.