It’s hard to determine a picture from a single puzzle piece.
Sartre writes that hell is other people. Obviously, he had never been here.
I’ve been living the same day for days now. Maybe weeks. I don’t know.
I can’t drink my coffee. My hands are too small, and the cup is too big.
I have doomed us all. It cannot be undone. Again.
There are men in the men’s room.