If we're put here long enough, someone's bound to learn something. The sweep of the second hand erases possibility; familiar postered walls become fortress and prison; the town outside transforms into what once happened. Our interiority grows big as the world. Eventually the last bell will ring, releasing us to begin the long walk back into singularity. But for now, we are collective, if too far apart to hear each other whisper. A fear may get stirred up by a puff of breath, then swirl through the air. There are lessons to be found in these ancient desks where many hearts are gouged. The empty chair that faces us is an eloquent teacher.