they are waiting, the grey sky shining, but not recognizing their eyes or nose. They'll just let their face fall on the table, trying to be uncouncious, trying to loose everything, everything is so little to them... then, after a few minutes of waiting like an abandoned teared up plush, they got up, and walked out of the door, they had to have those emerald colored paper did they not? Numbers, always there, yet they can't understand them... they hear no one but the choir of the void, hope is but a fleeting feeling.