He's at his desk, in the corner.
It's not a very ornate desk. There's a picture of his mom and dad. Next to that is a stack of invoices.
A few cubicles down, someone's laugh booms in a few short, emphatic bursts. Zeni doesn't seem to mind.
The monotony isn't crushing as he expected. It's more casual boredom.
He thinks to himself...
"This isn't so bad."
He presses the palm of his hand into the desk until his fingers are still.