How many days has it been? 3? 7? 70? I’ve been pacing around the ravioli, tiramisu, and ricotta. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It’s like time does not exist here. I watch as swarms of people effortlessly settle down and slurp up their pesto and tomato sauce-covered noodles in total bliss. They cry out, hooting and hollering strange phrases like “that LS7B midterm made me wanna drop out,” and “I miss the old YRL elevators, they were very creaky 80s library-core.” Why am I not like them? What separates us? Every time I think I spot an empty table, I grab my binoculars to look closer. Yet without fail, there they are: four napkins on the surface. For now, I suppose, I will forage through the pepper and oregano shakers to find some sustenance. I must live to see another day in this jungle.