The sky is bright and has the appearance of warmth, though the temperature will not rise to 50 on this day. The steady hum and stir of traffic steadily sings lightly 8 stories below in the pit. On the adjacent hill, four buildings are hunched sitting at a card game. One of them has on a tacky red and blue hat worn only for luck; he is currently winning as his posture indicates. With opera glasses, one of the hands is visible: 2 kings, if nothing is wild. Down stage the stove is warming water for tea. Periodically it whistles loudly overhead, but none of the players ever move. It is hard to get up from a poker game. There will come a time when someone has to fix the pot of tea, get up and pour the water into the pot and set the cozy back into place. Place a splash of milk in the bottom of four cups, prepare the sugar for scooping, and jingle the spoons on the saucers. A few characters are seen stirring stage right, but their roles are not yet apparent. Why don't they fix the tea? One is short, perhaps a child waiting patiently to attend a friend's birthday party where they wear pointed hats with bright colors. As the ceiling fan swirls the cigar smoke rising from the poker game, it appears as if the player with the hat has lost a big hand, but it is hard to tell when nobody moves. There is much potential outside my office window, but nobody will get up and fix the damn tea.