Void, Jesus Christ. It's like the sound of his foot against the floor is the only rhythm in the entire universe and I'm just some extra thrown into this deranged personal symphony of his. The fucking audacity to believe whatever beat he's keeping in that hollow melon matters even a little bit? Get a grip, dude. I'm this close to blasting my own music just to drown out whatever phantom rhythm he's compulsively mimicking. I can't decide which thought terrifies me more: that he's irretrievably insane or that I'm losing it. Either way, next time I see him I might just join in. Two lunatics tapping in perfect discord – now that'd be a statement.