It is completely dark. The crowd hushes without being told. Open eyes see blackness, nothing but simple black, no light pestering rods and cones into interpretation, color, movement.
It would be restful, still, like pre-birth nonbeing, were we not all, as most are, secretly fearful of death.
Who am I?
Have I wasted my life?
Coughing. Wrappers. Whispers.
The one crowd becomes a crowd of ones.