You find yourself alone in public. The place is strangely quiet for a spot so crowded. Just the clack of keys, the hiss of air compressors and the muted cacophony of soothing, senseless satellite radio. So many people in once place saying nothing to one another, they just read, study, work, muse silently and occasionally stare out the window at the drizzle; it's barely stopped raining for a week now. Five days of languid and relentless precipitation, of the utterances of verbose clouds, have stolen our voices and interaction no longer seems necessary.
Three dozen people, alone in each other's company.