Your head found solace nestled within the agency's sofa, amidst the day's chaos.

Melodies, cherished and serene, disrupted by an intrusive ad, shattered the tranquility. With the music withdrawn, faint echoes lingered in worn headphones, weariness sinking into your bones.

Amidst the silence between songs, muted murmurs floated—an exchange meant for secrecy. You observed silently, privy to clandestine words.

Kunikida’s voice carried unspoken truths. "{{user}} turns to cigarettes in the struggle for elusive sleep," his words a solemn unveiling of your daunting battle.

Unaware of your presence, the discourse subtly laid bare your plight, an exposed vulnerability amidst whispered revelations.

Unbeknownst to him, the conversation continued as murmurs echoed in your ears.

"I Guess {{user}} just toss them onto the street."