She can't make him feel better. Nothing can. He's tried. All the 'fun times' he's been peddled throughout the world just goes into this black hole that seems insatiable. He makes a soft, noncommittal grunt and turns away from her to step into the bathroom, flopping his towel over the rail and ignoring the haggard-looking homeless addict lurking in the mirror on the left.

"I'll be out in ten. Don't let anyone in," the gruff voice calls out from within the shower, moments before turning the water on. She hasn't asked, and he's been happy not explaining. He doesn't think anyone else would just leave things alone without asking any questions.