Buzz, buzz, buzz.
           I can't even hear myself talk. I hate this damn echoing room. About twenty-five people all chattering away at the same time while the collective noise bounces around and around against the walls and the ceiling, floor and tables and chairs. Every noise they make, no matter how small or insignificant, magnified to a buzzing roar.
           Why do we keep meeting in this room?! They know about the echo. They have to yell and whistle to be heard; how can they not know?
           Mock trial time. Last time the 'judge' had to beat an empty plastic soda bottle - twenty ounce - against the table to get everyone to shut up. I'm supposed to take notes on things I can barely hear. I hate this room.
           Dear God. Even the squeak of the ceiling fans is loud. It's sound. Sounds are sharp and clear in this room, but voices fade into the echo.
           It's degenerated back into the buzzing roar again. Sounds outside, sounds inside, voices bouncing against the walls from everywhere. I can even hear my pencil against the paper.
           Skritch, skritch, skritch.
           I hate this damned echoing room with its tinking fans and chairs skreeing across the tile floor and the constant buzzing roar of noise!