What is there?
What do I taste? The sugary sweetness of halva.
What do I smell? The remnants of lunch.
What do I hear? The sound of a far-off, and approaching, airplane engine.
What do I see? My page and pen, and the sunlight shining through the window.
What do I feel? The anxious wondering about whether I have said too much; the cool concrete floor; the soft hairs on my cheek.