Nobody looks when the seat creaks too loud in this room made of linoleum and soft plastic as Ove leans over in his seat. Most just stare off into an unimaginable space. The rubber stops groan with his weight.       “Sanctioned?” he asks quizzically, narrowing the answers down. If not, he’ll try again, there are plenty of reasons to be here. They’re all stuck waiting for the director, anyway, or whatever you call the man or woman who orchestrates a group of people such as this. A little, expectant gleam in Ove’s eyes says he would like a very specific response regardless.