This room is suffocating. We are cramped, pushed together and unable to move from the small, gray desks we have been provided. Some seats sit empty, most are occupied by someone far too big for their confides; it feels as though the assigned seats from elementary school have followed our forms to this stale white room that rises above a lower floor. The windows let in little direct light through their mostly shut blinds, the ones that come standard in most apartments. Most of the bright, steal lighting comes from the humming lights above; it is far too white to feel comfortable and greeting. Through the room echoes the sound of shuffling from below and the flushing of toilets in the room directly next to. The echos also share the sound of sniffling, key pads and the scratching of writing utensils on paper. The floors are cold, and crudely placed so that any of the green-gray texture that stripes them do not match; they turn in whatever direction they see fit. There’s also an out of place tile near the front of the room. From the door, one passes four rows of desks before meeting an open space that it occupied by two objects. A long table topped in fake wood and a desk that looks like it belongs in a business office. This room is suffocating. 

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