There is never silence in the air, always a noise, a pervasion tapping on the window to your brain, scratching with uncut nails, a feeling that leaks from the fraying edges of the horizon, covering the atmosphere, smelling like something familiar yet unfamiliar, something old as time. There is a line, somewhere in the school, and people there are droopy eyed and wandering, grumbling about the sky, the ground, taking the air, feeling the air, yet somehow awake thanks to the crisp wind and the blaring of the train, thanks to the silent whispers and the colorful couches so garish yet cheerful, stained with remnants of long forgotten and abandoned meals – there is steam in the air, in a corner of the space, a wonderful smelling pocket of steam, something that their nostrils almost long for (and they are so much more awake than the humans) as the brains feel it, jolt awake, find life, fuelled by addiction and the fumes of caffeine. Another student walks off with a warm cup in hand, stirring rod in place, lid snapped shut, string dangling, ready to face the new day, a thin stream of steam rising up from the lid, making its way up to the skylights, the steam wavering in the blue morning light. And isn’t that just dandy, that we need the tea, need it, because without it we cannot sit and listen throughout the monotony, not when the minds that we think are so important are always ringing and brimming, spilling, cascading over the edge with ideas, thoughts, fragments that float through the air like dust motes and are swept away by the whispering wind that carries the scent of earl gray steeped just a little too long. They look at us with sharp eyes, remain oblivious to the addiction to the tea, stare at us and talk for hours about drugs, about alcohol, about addiction and darkness without seeing what is right in front of their eyes, without seeing the tea bags that line the trash cans – green tea, pomegranate, earl gray, Darjeeling, oolong, herbal mixes, and so much more. They look yet they do not see, eyes floating past the sickly sweet tea that has taken hold in their undeveloped minds and warns them not to crack when there is something more dangerous around them. Eyelids weigh heavier than anvils, dragging and dropping so low and dense that it’s a workout to keep them open, shouldn’t this count as a PE credit? Their lectures are all in vain as students take their seats on bright blue, green, red, grey couches and start sipping another cup of tea, hands draped over their smooth laptops and eyes bright, unknowing of the rot in their minds, the fools.