“So, you’re searching for the soul,” he said dismissively, as if it were something as simple to find as gold and jewels. This was nothing new, the soul, he meant. He was on his third meeting of the day in this ever-so-loud lounge, and every meeting ended the same with a single question. Where is it? As if the soul were so easy to ensnare in one's embrace and keep in his wallet. Bored of this never-ending search, he looked towards his phone distractedly and found a line of messages and emails waiting for him. He tried to scroll through to find something new, something exciting, something to pull his mind away, or at least nudge it in a different direction. With little luck and much less patience he goes back to work rubbing his hand over his face feeling the beard that had taken much too long to grow. And yet when he tried to type, he couldn’t move. His fingers stuck hovering over the keyboard staring at a screen that seemed to slowly consume him. He had to move, he had to leave, he had to do something, anything if only to remind himself what he was searching for. One blink. Two. A third, and though an eternity had passed, the chorus in the background had only just started playing. Abruptly he gets up—nothing was going to come from him sitting there, and while he doubted the soul was simply lying around here, it was better than being trapped in one's own mind.