I had a little time. I was in a cafe. They had coffee stirrers. I had linen thread. And a pen.
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
– T.S Elliot