9pm and still further. Balancing between what needs to be, what should be, and what's possible trying to achieve both and still have room in that night for something that may be instead of having to be. One machine's singing, the others just keep quiet as if knowing they'd better stay out of the way. Stories of bits and pieces as the page of this day rapidly fills.
10am and on. Slowly drifting back to normal. Clouds like waves sailing restless skies. Watching a lonely fly make its way through the shadows cast by dusty island stones on the windowsill. Sometimes, the phone is ringing. Sometimes, the machine will spin up all its fans, blowing heat and that odd scent of electricity deep into the room. Sometimes. (One more coffee to get on par with the morning. And the week.)
10am and on. Day cut into slices, individually spiced, hopefully fit for safe consumption. And always, having coffee for that. Discussing weird technical issues with a random language model, to a point where it feels uncomfortable as not knowing anymore who lead whom astray. Some sun's dripping through half-closed windows, through half-closed eyelids, into a half-attentive mind. Dial up, tune in, move forth.