There are two petite girls reading their email and sitting rather closer together than people who don't know each other usually sit. There's a boy with a cloud of curly physics-major hair. There's a copy of Schneier on Security on a table across the room. And I'm sitting at a desk that's been written on quite a lot, next to a huge bookcase full of volumes of the journal Pattern Recognition, which, apparently, exists.
It's right next to Lindley, and it doesn't close for another two and a half hours. And it's very, very quiet.
It's my first time in here, but, I think, not my last.