The coffee spilled everywhere and the black-haired, skull-headed man just smiled, because he knew that he would not have to clean it up. Quiet sheep-mouse lady grabbed a rag and a mop and a heapin' helpin' of desperation. Someone has to clean up the coffee, after all.
Skull-head moves slowly and sheep-mouse races, trembling all the while. High-volume lady plies her trade in telling Sheep-mouse how to wipe and how to mop and to feel desperate. Sheep-mouse trembles and Skull-head grins. Maybe Skull-head and High-volume lady know something Sheep-mouse does not. Desperation, perhaps, is the province of Sheep-mouse. Perhaps.
Sheep-mouse has to wring her rag and squeeze her mop and look into a crystal ball of quickly-fading dreams. Skull-head moves to a new vantage point, surveying his kingdom and giving High-volume lady reason to kvetch anew. Sheep-mouse wrings her rag and squeezes her mop.
In the meadow the snow falls softly and quietly. Sheep-mouse bleats and longs for home.