"It's been an hour!" Fedora grunted in pure frustration that was now laced with raw impatience. He shifted, slightly standing up and peaking through the rows of people to check for any signs of her, but yet there was none. The hall was cold, fresh and welcoming, but Fedora was already sweating in a way that added more diesel to his aflamed discomfort.
Every pore felt tight, his skin reacting to the stagnant wait as if the very air were a personal affront.
"What is it that she's confessing up till now?! Is she not supposed to be without sin, or at least a few sins? Mtchwwww! So much for portraying Mother Theresa the second," he hissed.
As if the universe was mocking him and magnifying the weight of his boredom, the room suddenly went dead quiet, the silence heavy and judgmental.
And since Fedora's mind was restless, impatient, and painfully boring him to death, he couldn't help but begin his little eye tour of the entire interior of the large, tall building.
