In the Servicing Unit all desks face outward in a circle which has been contrived with no interior. It sits on a kind of pinwheel and spins. Thousands of figures are daily computed to justify it.
Assignments are made, people move briskly back and forth following the rhythms of demand.
Transactions are contemplated, initiated, executed. I appear at the request of the village, with my service requirements. These are laid out and anatomized by the occupants of the outermost desks. Occasionally someone turns toward a screen full of whirling lines and numbers. I close my eyes and listen to the white noise of the Unit.