It was the rainy season. Our outside activities ceased and we were driven indoors. We could do little but brew coffee and eat warm danish. It was a taxing time. We circled the warm danish like animals. We’d occasionally leave the fluorescent light of the danish room and go up to look out the windows at the rain. It made us hungry for more danish. We kept busy brewing coffee when the pot got low. We watched the pot, watched the level. The coffee pot grew loud as it perked, drowning out the rain, but only for a moment. For a moment we thought the rain had stopped, and that we were a bunch of idiots surrounded by stryofoam cups and 300 danish. But then we heard the rain again, and went back to what we were doing. We counted the danish periodically, and lined them up in neat rows. We organized a search for more creamer. We wondered what it would be like to have blueberry danish, since we only had cherry. No one spoke of it, but you could see it in their eyes.
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