The curtains to one side of the room shielded a gray looking window, Jacek could see raindrops splattered against it. He hated rain.

“Does it always rain here?” he asked.

“Rain?! What I would give for a bloody bit o’ rain! It’s always wretched hot,” Jacek’s first acquaintance replied.

“But it isn’t—”

“Bah. I’m not gonna sit here talking to ya about the weather all day. C’mon bub, wheel me outta here would ya?” the plump, beet-faced man demanded impatiently. Jacek raised an eyebrow and saw that the man was indeed sitting in a wheelchair that he hadn’t noticed before.

“What’s your name?” he finally thought to inquire.

“Robert. That’s enough for now,” the man said, letting loose another foul belch. Jacek pushed the man out of room nineteen and waited.

“Don’t you want my name?” he hinted.

“Not as long as you take a right down this hallway and leave me at the cafeteria. That’s enough for now.”