Perhaps that nagging song is like the grain of sand that chafes the oyster for months and produces a pearl. Or maybe not. Right now you'd trade a pearl for a glass of iced tea. You simply reach up, grip, pull, step forward, on and on. It's maybe three in the afternoon when the workday ends.
Grim faces crack a smile.
There are a few shouts of joy and many more silent ones. Even bad jokes seem funny. Everyone lumbers on to the bus. You close your eyes for a second. You're home already.