There is a moment, see, when you're sitting across the desk from an ending, and you suddenly lose the ability to isolate single words. You try to read lips, but dipthongs slip and rearrange and you become aware that it will be impossible to tuck the words in tiny boxes until you can actually sort them.

Rather than panic, though, sometimes the mind does something both merciful and strange.

It shuts down.

As it shuts down, it takes all the air in the room with it and you are suddenly compelled to stand and put out a hand to thank the speaker for their time, ignoring their confusion, and beat a hasty retreat.

It is about the air, see.