Ten minutes

Ten minutes until they start walking into the room, filling up the empty space with buzzing brains, still stifled with sleep.  Ten minutes until the anticipation turns to reality, and reality turns cold and hard as the ground outside.  These wonderful creatures, these inquisitive minds will send off their signals of indifference or curiosity, depending on how the mood strikes them.  And me?  Who will I be?  Will I be a scholar, a comedian, or a librarian?  Am I excited enough for the curiosity to catch fire?  If they turn off their brains and turn on their motor mouths, will I have the gall to put a stop to it?  Ten minutes of anticipation.  Ten minutes of quiet, when the room is whatever it wants to be.  Ten minutes when today could be anything I can imagine it to be.