Closing in on 4pm. Fingers faster than mind, resulting in ill-formed messages sent down the wrong sinks. Restarting, rewriting, rewatching, shouting at the protocol just as a temporary relief. Browsing through a pile of paper based notes, randomly able to decipher earlier days' symbols and topics. Sound of suitcase wheels in the streets, all along with tourists and tonal voices merrily discussing the incomprehensible. Messengers ringing, signals lost, forgotten passwords. Drifting into a busy afternoon.