Key questions fall over and over again to each one’s head; they’re inside, yet they feel heavy and soaking –not in water, luckily- but in “core aspects” and “main points”.
The room then becomes a summarized Babel Tower where simple phrases in English, Turkish, and Spanish for practical use are exchanged.
Nobody hears the far, old, heavy mumbling of the man behind the funny tie anymore. Instead, some eyes turn and focus loosely on the drops that fall endlessly one behind the other –or endlessly at least for the next five minutes.
Until now I’m still an outsider, not being part of the whole scene, someplace where not even the unshuttable inquisitor takes notice of me. He would, though, if I just jumped into the rain as probably someone else also wished, but being at a second stage makes it a bit improbable right now.
Perhaps tonight it starts again and we can just sit in the middle of nowhere and feel the ice cold –but still water- drops falling on our back, and then… and then a bunch of knuckles hitting the table tells you it’s time to go.
Hell is over, see you next week.
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