"Well I though that was a fairly productive meeting," Felix said to the factory overseers seated at his table in the Bold Helvetica.  As the overseers left one by one, giving Felix their final two-cents, Felix waited at the table for the check to arrive.  He looked around and assessed this semi-decent establishment, his eyes passing over some seedy-looking fellows, though their 'seediness' did not register in his mind.  There was a framed poem hanging on a nearby wall that Felix read.  Having no poetic sense, Felix merely assumed that this style must be what was popular right now, unable to gauge how awful the poem really was.