<br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_u"><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Jarvis Driscoll arrives early in anticipation.  (The Lobby - Day 2; 09:05)</span></strong></span></div><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Jarvis Driscoll had risen early.  This was not unusual in itself ~ it would be normal if he was going to work ~ but today, Jarvis had taken the day off.  The hurried <em>clear-my-diary-and-hold-all-my-calls-tomorrow</em> conversation he had with his assistant the previous evening had no doubt sent shockwaves around the office.  Jarvis liked to keep them guessing now and then, just to get the partners worried that he was being head-hunted by another agency.  It was a tactic that kept his bank manager very happy.  Jarvis looked at his Tudor Alarm watch.  He was near a full hour early for his appointed time with Dorian Silver.  <em>Oh my, obsession does get the better of you, Jarvis.</em>  He remarked to himself.<br/><br/>Jarvis eyed the revolving doors with suspicion.   He never liked revolving doors ~ since childhood he always imagined them to be some kind of fiendish coffin.  Jarvis pushed his way through, holding his breath as if jumping into icy water.  But this passing through the gateway into another realm was a drink from <em>Lethe</em>; with his sighing out breath he had forgotten all when faced with the quirk lobby of the gallery.  The idiosyncratic front desk never failed to draw a smile from him.   Pausing to breath it all in, he crackled like static with anticipation.  But, at first glance, the desk did not seem to be manned.  On previous occasions he had seen the most delectable girl with a beguiling southern accent who was dressed (as some might unkindly describe) as if she was part of a side-show.  On his visits to <em>Waxing Rhapsodic</em>, Jarvis had grown accustomed to the unusual being the usual ~ and he was, after all, used to dealing with what his social circle would call <em>the artistic type.</em>  Jarvis took his time and went into <em>gallery mode</em> ~ pretending to show an interest in the well executed, but for Jarvis's taste somewhat banal, landscapes and portaits on the walls.  Time was being killed, but for Jarvis it was a painfully slow death.  <br/><br/>He found himself fixating on the music, and couldn't work out if he liked it.  <em>Too</em>...he searched for the right adjective but was too distracted to come up with anything eloquent.  <em>Too muzak-y.</em> There were times when he was simply unapologetic about his snobbery.  <em>I must talk to Aline about that ~ you need something more contemporary-classical.  Glass, maybe, or Reich...ah but the minimalists are so passé now. </em> He went on in a flight of fancy. <em>Or something that everyone thinks they know what it is... but really it gives them a mental itch that they can't scratch...the Dirty Three, perhaps?.</em><br/><br/>He paused at the back of the gallery. <em> I wonder.</em>  He mused.  <em>Would it be open at this time?</em>  He heard footsteps behind him, and turned with a slightly guilty expression to greet the intruder to his thoughts.</span>