I tear my gaze from my watch to the florescent lights flickering overhead. The man slouching in the corner hacks out a loud wet cough, peering over the folds of his coat as he scrolls through his phone. He glances up at me. I immediately look away. The chatter from the TV mounted on the wall does nothing to distract me from the sound of my own breathing. I swear I'm breathing oddly now, but I'm too conscious of the act to correct it. The brief ring of a telephone is cut short as the receptionist answers a call from behind her desk. I hear her voice, but can't find the interest to listen in. The only other noise is the tick of the analog clock on the wall ahead of me. I look from the clock to my watch. The one on the wall is a bit slow. Or maybe the one on my wrist is too fast. I wonder which is more accurate. I wonder if it matters. I try to tap my foot to the tick of the clock, but can't help restlessly bouncing my leg faster. It doesn't make the seconds pass any faster.