0oomph

This might be Jean’s desk with his ID on the table.

Text on typewriter reads (as much as I can decipher; updated thanks to @zucchinigal):

“Sucess: Performance 16 (middle aged) Kid, I bet you think some day your life will begin. That it’s still out there somehow, a great big life just waiting to start. Well, it isn’t. This is all there is. This job is the only fight we are given. After this, we will be it’s [sic, might be a typo] veterans. There is nothing more in that beloved future of yours. We are all done there. Done and gone.”

Journal entry:

“We ourselves may be loved only for a brief time. Even so, that will suffice. There is a city for the living and there is a city for the dead.”

Letter on the left: