The clanking,
the clinkering
of the plates, forks, knifes
becoming submerged into a soapy mess,
as our feet shuffle out of the meal quarters.
And without a thought,
we unconsciously,
swiftly
speed.

Before the plates are placed the dry, the place is empty,
and the drowsy afternoon silence envelops the area, the glimmering, nearly blinding sun cracking through the windows
showing the cooks, employees, anyone that were to be slow in their departure, the speed up of the day, the world sips on its bitterly sweet coffee, flinching at the mass jolt that each is put under.

Bustling, bustling,
throughout the streets,
the world having the thought that only eleven hours are left,
eleven hours,
eleven hours.
Only eleven hours left to finish each taunting task of the day.

The crowd speeds massively more,
entering their place of business,
shuffling into their next class.

The caffeine, the rush to get through it all dissolves,
as the world submerges back into their work, lost in the cloud of over externalization, of overworking, of living to the fullest, never wasting a moment.