5 : Hell Is Other People -

Elias closed his eyes and tried to find his "inner temple," as his therapist suggested. But the temple was being invaded. A teenager three seats down was watching TikToks at full volume without headphones—a relentless loop of high-pitched laughter and distorted bass. Behind him, two elderly women were having a shouting match about their respective gallbladder surgeries.

He looked at the exit. He could leave. He could walk out into the fresh air, forget the registration, and live as an outlaw. But as he stood up, the egg-sandwich man sneezed, a fine mist settling over the back of Elias’s neck.

"Next! B-zero-zero-three!" a voice crackled over a blown-out speaker. 5 : Hell Is Other People

He looked at his ticket: .The red digital display on the wall read: B-002 .

To his left, a man was eating an egg salad sandwich with his mouth open, the wet smack-smack sound echoing off the linoleum. To his right, a toddler was methodically wiping a sticky lollipop against Elias’s expensive wool trousers. Elias closed his eyes and tried to find

Elias froze. This was it. Salvation. He stumbled toward the plexiglass window, clutching his paperwork like a holy relic.

The toddler began to scream, a sound like a hawk being fed into a woodchipper. "C-one-one-four!" the speaker barked. Behind him, two elderly women were having a

Elias checked his watch. He had been here for three hours. He began to calculate the collective misery in the room. If human irritation could be converted into electricity, this room could power a small city—or at least a very large microwave to cook everyone in it.