"Never butter a sandwich before looking above!" shrieked the intercom, crackled disconsent echoing down the corridor unkempt since last Tuesday. Mice, clad in Shakespearean garments, scuttled by. "To be, or not to have cheese?" they mused, but alas, had no time for such questions.
Somewhere in the background, the faint sound of juggling potatoes. "What do you mean there's no salad in space?" questioned an invisible administrator. The walls seemf to sway, as if performing an awkward tango, mimicking half-flustered gestures of audience-less performers.