
You stand before a desk so crowded it seems to have grown outward of its own accord. Twin monitors glow in mismatched companionship. A yellow-painted mobile perches atop the larger monitor, ready to disturb the picture whenever it rings.
Above the desk, shelves climb to the ceiling, every bit of wall pressed into service. Near at hand, amplifier, speakers, and a tape deck sit ready for work. Higher up, stray keyboards, computer boards, and tangled cables overflow from plastic crates.
Next to the desk, an array of computer "big tower"s rise like grey fortresses, fronts bristling with diskette drives, floppy drives, CD writers, and a proud ZIP drive, while atop them balances a precarious stack of recordable discs.
Behind this assembly lurks a tall bookcase, half-hidden. Study texts and novels, an elderly laser printer, a fax machine, and still more hardware. Between the books, if your eye is sharp, lies a modest stack of maps. In front of the desk is an elderly chair, nearly stuck between the desk and couch. On your left, a window is just visible, and on your right you see the edge of a door.