Paranioa and the Pop (Soda) Machine

Everybody come stand by the pop machine.
This is the place to be:
Loud, obnoxious, and just plain thirsty…
I am not paranoid but I think the people in this room are watching me when I am not looking. Directly in front of me is an older gentleman, I’d say in his seventies. He has on an old navy blue sportsjacket, matching dress slacks, and a comically large blue boe tie. He has been looking at the same page of the article he’s reading for nearly twenty minutes or so. Probably trying to decide whether or not to drop dead or turn to the next page. It's a really hard decision to make. He'd better do it carefully. I know I would if I was as old and frail looking as this gentleman is.
There is a very rotund black woman sitting in the corner, hiding behind her laptop, arms occasionally darting out to grab a cheeto. But every time there is the slightest noise, she pops her eyes out from behind it to find out the causation. After taking her little prarie dog peek, she quickly jumps back into her hole. We all do actually.
Also in the room is a rather slender, pretty girl dressed in all black. She has long, black, straight hair. Upon her torso she wears a black turtle-neck sweater, which is too warm to be wearing in this weather. It accents how pale she really is. This is probably why she is too fidgety, it is too damn hot and she needs to get a tan. Yeah, that’s exactly it. She also has on tight black pants and black high heeled boots. Why so much black? I haven’t the foggiest. But I do know that she cannot focus on what she trying to do. Pulls out a cell phone, plays with the dial, closes it and stands up. Looks at the soda machine and returns to the table to see if she can’t take another crack at the book in front of her. This cycle is finished when she ultimately leaves the room and goes off to god knows where, leaving her things scattered carelessly along the table. She returns after five or ten minutes, and the whole process starts all over again.
There are others in the room too, but they have not been here quite so long as we have. They are the casual drifters who normally stay long enough to take a book out, try and decide to read it, then put it away, zip up their bags, and flee this forsaken room.
Did I say I was being paranoid? I think we all are. We all are nervous little feet bouncers, jumping at the slightest movement or sound. The four of us who have been in here for three hours keep missing our own fleeting glances at each other. Is it the self-consciousness that we are awkwardly abiding too? Why does it seem that no one is capable of studying in this room? Could it be the color scheme, or perhaps the dry constant humming from within the ceiling? I do not know. Perhaps, I should wait here a little longer; see if I can’t figure this thing out. Meanwhile there is another couple at the soda machine, talking rather loudly, and the four of us can’t help to stare and try and listen in on the conversation taking place. Oh! Shit! I think they caught me watching…