If I commute by bike, I arrive to a near empty office at 6:30 am. There is one guy that beats me here, but he is on the far end of the building. My quiet half is only broken up by a lone clock radio humming away down the hallway, whose clarity only reveals itself when I walk by on the way to the bathroom to change into work clothes. A full-throated and excited pentecostal preacher rails away for souls from a tinny little plastic box deep in an office. Another employee arrives sometime after 7 and undoubtedly walks in and clicks off the championing voice, though this does nothing to stop the next morning's pre 6:30 am ritual to repeat. It certainly has a mood of a horror flick or an eery roadside store one stumbles into, but at this point it has descended into a small note in my morning ritual. I look forward to it.