You're three paragraphs deep into actual work when your coworker's leg starts its seismic assessment of the floorboards beside you. You try to ignore it. You can't. His knee has become a metronome for a song only he can hear, and it's playing at exactly the frequency that makes your eye twitch. Finally you look over, and he's completely still, staring at his screen like a man at peace with the universe—his leg doesn't even pause. It's like his body hired a freelancer to keep time while his brain clocked out.