It's creepy in here, everybody gone. I'd hoped somebody's hid out and would be waiting, but when Bud wheels the casket thing through these halls, there's nothing-your own voice coming back thin and empty, reflected from rooms beyond rooms beyond rooms, all waiting under here. Wobbling along on the crutches, Johnny fetched me, I get lost in this electronic city clean and hard. We are like something that washed up on the beach here. God, it must've cost more than all Fairhope itself, and who knew it was here? Not me.